When readers cross the transom by Angelica Hart & Zi

When readers cross the transom...

 

According to Stephen King, "If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time or the tools to write." For some of us, meaning writers, reading has been an obsession since a young age. We'd devour every book, pamphlet, flyer, newspaper, comic book, magazine, and yes, lacking anything at hand at breakfast, would read the back of the cereal box. However, not all readers end up being a writer, what is that epiphany moment that has one crossing the transom? For every writer it is different, for both of us it has been something we simply could not avoid. It has been part of our earliest memories.

My favorite words as a child were, Once upon a time, obviously the opening of many fairy tales. Zi’s similar memory was Sunday night’s opening music to the Wonderful World of Disney. I knew when I heard those words an adventure, a fantasy, or simply magical moments would soon flash upon the reel of my imagination.

We have had the honor and privilege to read to children and I saw delineated on those young folks’ faces a reflection that reminded me of my youthful jubilance when I read those words, Once upon a time.

For Angelica, as a child, her run on of, tellmeastory said over and over until someone read her story turned into, wannahearastory until someone listened. Before she could write she'd draw pictures, and read from those pictures. As soon as she could write little stories appeared on napkins, fancy stationary, scraps of paper, anything and everything that could hold pencil, crayon or ink, including the wall, which her mother was not so happy about. Zi had a similar hunger to string words together in a coherent and logical thought pattern, writing constantly and in volume, and then those thoughts turned into stories that he couldn't put down fast enough. Every word, every image, every twist and turn within a plot became vital.

I used to carry several books around with me, imploring any reading-able body to read me a story. It didn't matter if they were young or old. It didn't matter if they had an accent or not. It didn't matter if they altered their voice for each character, although, that was indeed the preferred option. I used to say read me a story so often that it turned into a run-on chant. There was nothing grander than being read to, a story where I could travel to a different land, where taste and textures were defined with whorls of words. One moment I was a baby rabbit, another a mouse with a hole-in-the-wall house, sometimes an audacious child. I especially liked rhythms, the playful beat and measure that tapped out a story, sometimes silly, sometimes funny, and sometimes very strange. Mattered not. It was the journey, that sweet, wonderful roller coaster of sounds that created dream bubbles that I could actually see in my mind’s eye.

I’ll share one of Zi’s first memories of reading aloud. I wrote this without first asking him. It is personal but as I later explained, apt.

Zi was a child with undiagnosed dyslexia and struggled early with reading and writing. Recalling that period, he has expressed the humiliation he felt not learning the same way others were, though he never felt sorry for that boy.

At an early age he knew he wanted to read and write and valued those tools. As an adult you can easily discern that his books are respected treasures and opening the world of storytelling is a passion. It was the Woodlawn Public Library located in Union Park Gardens just off the Bancroft Parkway that provided him what I call a breakthrough.

Reading and writing was an endless series of embarrassment and humiliation where the stumbling over words, the constant juxtapostioning of words and letters, and the inability to sound out words were painful. Peers at a young age have not developed empathy or compassion and would tease.

The third floor of that library was his safe place and by some unexpected gift of divine foresight, close to his home. His mother worked and that circumstance made it the perfect after-school sanctuary.

He once recounted to me the old radiators were far too hot, occasionally whistled, and tinted the air with that odd metallic smell of water boiled in an iron pot. While there, he would grab any read-aloud style children’s book, books far beneath his age, and hide in a corner on that third floor and quietly read aloud to himself. Never minding if he stumbled over words or struggled with inflection, he just read; hour after hour. Over time the books chosen became more complex and he slowly fought to compensate for his handicap. It was in those secluded corners hidden amidst the radiator smells I believe Zi birthed a deep love for writing and reading. It was children’s books that opened a new world, free of ridicule and filled with possibilities borne from the imagination of authors. He fights and works so hard with our work to make it his gift back.

When asked why, we respond, we want to make people laugh, cry, smile, wince, fear, enjoy. We want to entertain. So, where is that line that pushes a reader into the realm of writing. That we cannot say, probably for every writer it is different, we only know it is an experience that keeps us alive. Sound dramatic? Of course it does, we're writers.
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We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009
SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010
CHASING GRAVITAS ~ July 2010
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com

 

KILLER DOLLS can be purchased at
Champagne Books
http://www.champagnebooks.com/

Romancing the Bottle by Angelica Hart & Zi

ROMANCING THE BOTTLE?

"Did you ever hear of Captain Wattle? He was all for love, and a little for the bottle." was written by Charles Dibdin. The quote's funny. Over our lives we have discovered that what makes things amusing is that they are steeped in truth. So Charles Dibdin made us think and we've ran with his character and his love and drink.

Still, love and 'the bottle' together? Good or bad or indifferent? Depends on how you perceive romance and the affect of drinking while in the midst of romancing. In many ways, the use of drink dilutes (pun intended) the power of love. Therefore, should it be used as a plot device or avoided? We answer the afore question this way, we wish to write sober-based love-ships believing drink is a distraction but as a plot device it has possibilities.

Captain Wattle turned and heard, "Kiss me dear!" Saw Belinda with her lazy eye and one-tooth smile and felt fear.

How often has 'the bottle' influenced love. What's the old joke? Everyone looks better after three drinks. We all know about coyote ugly. We've all heard the way to get the ditzy babe on the roof is to tell her that the drinks were on the house. The concept of all that is so unattractive.

With the hook on his one hand, he de-corked the rum, turned to Belinda and smiled a gritty grin stating, "One minute, mum."

We sat down and made a conscious choice that we would not use 'the bottle' within our work when it comes to the relationship between our hero and heroine. Our characters are not teatotallers. We will not aggrandize drink nor preach sobriety. Will it be banned completely? No.

A chug... a chug-a-lug... a chug-a-lot was followed by an unintended burp and a change in this story's plot.

In KILLER DOLLS our heroine, Letti, had an employee who speaks of drinking and how it has touched her life, no not negatively, and Letti has contracted with a service company and 'the bottle' very seriously effects judgment and dramatically the plot outcome. We will not take the path of all the Jason movies and execute all drinkers... or will we... we could... we have taken control of our keyboard... tink... tink... drink... drink... bomb... dead!... oops... back space... erase... erase.... undo... no redo... what... is the truth... read our work and you will see threads that are common in each.

His head spun to the left and then to the right Belinda turned beautiful and was his for the night.

So with a sober smile I state, quoting Al Bundy, using his sneer-face, "Pretty women make us buy beer, ugly women make us drink beer!!!" There is a funny smell caught in that quote and a stench of poor relating. Romancing the bottle and romancing maybe innately a contradiction and it goes against our base philosophy about love. To quote ourselves, "...love can be found anywhere, anytime, by anyone as long as you recognize it."

EXCERPT THREE

Letti gasped at the unexpected behavior but she wasn't adverse to it. After all, he did something similar when he had kissed her so suddenly in her apartment. It felt like one of those fantasy moments, something right out of an old-fashioned bodice ripper. Yet, the moment wasn't quite right. There were those guys. Shouldn't they be a bit prudent, or did the possibility of danger turn Taut…well…taut.

She struggled but he refused to release her. He couldn't let her do anything that might spread the ricin. Gallagher had provided photos of ricin victims. He would not allow this to harm Letti. No one was to be hurt. Not again. Not on his watch. That imperative directed his next decisions.

His hold was an aphrodisiac, animalistic, driven, homogeneous with her want, placated only by submission to it, and her body began to respond. Shallow short breaths followed the intense heat smoldering in her groin, incinerating any resistance, and guaranteeing conflagration of raging flames of lust. The tight, pucker of her nipples signaled her growing arousal, and heaviness attached itself to her breasts, having that need to be touched. She surrendered to his authority, submitted, and urged him with her acquiesces to take more.

Once she stopped thrashing about, in the dark veil of silence still at her back, he grabbed her blouse, hand over one breast; she reacted to his touch as he balled the cloth in a huge hand, recalled the words, cut over-the-head garments away, and with one violent motion foreshadowing tremendous strength, tore it from her. In silence, he held it at arm’s length and disposed of it in an adjacent plastic-lined trash basket.

KILLER DOLLS IS AVAILABLE: Unaware that bio-terrorists are using her handcrafted dolls to attack the innocent, Letti Noel finds herself falling for Taut Johnson, an undercover FBI agent. Even as deceit is a growing barrier to their love, it's the stalking terrorists that are a threat to their lives.
_____

We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009
SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010
CHASING GRAVITAS ~ July 2010
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com

KILLER DOLLS can be purchased at
Champagne Books
http://www.champagnebooks.com/

Me...A Flea by Angelica Hart & Zi

ME… A FLEA?

On a daily basis our characters’ unique personalities pull our thoughts toward the concept of perception. “Fleas know not whether they are upon the body of a giant or upon one of ordinary stature,” wrote the poet Landor. As a flea in the world of writing, I know that Angelica is giantesque.

Zi was immediately interrupted by Angelica asking, “Where are you going with this? Is this about my weight?”

Zi replies, “Weight? You’ve weight?” And he smiles.

We understand that perception is reality and our job as writers is to take that word clay and prepare it for the kiln so when fired it creates images. Some are thought provoking, others ugly, some funny. But there are those days when we utterly fail to understand. Thus, bringing to our humble attention one very simple fact, we like many of our manuscripts are works in progress.



Below is an excerpt from KILLER DOLLS, a soon to be Champagne Books release, we hope you enjoy it.


EXCERPT TWO

They got a room, asked to use the phone, storm had the lines down, asked about a cell phone and the clerk, a man of advanced age, looked at Taut as if he were an alien, paid in cash, parked out of view, and entered a nice but tacky cabin room.

“I see that shabby-chic is nouveau. The guest towels say… well used. Look, a bottle of shampoo. I used this stuff when I was a kid. It bubbles." Letti was rambling and gently ranting to cover her fear. She now understood the gravity of the situation; it was real, though she did not know why two very evil men were chasing them. Nor why they had her dolls. Why? The dual whys came out in unattractive rumbling, its blasphemy a cruel sacrilege.

“I am sleeping where?” asked Taut. The room had one bed.

“Between me and the door… and that window.”

_____

We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009
SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010
CHASING GRAVITAS ~ July 2010
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com

 

KILLER DOLLS can be purchased at
Champagne Books
http://www.champagnebooks.com/

It Can't be Defined by Angelica Hart & Zi

IT CAN'T BE DEFINED

To write as partners, the collusion and collision of ideals and ideas must be for the most part non-violent. What does that mean? If the work is expected to be harmonious, the two authors at some level must philosophically agree, bickering for ego's sake can't succeed. To know us is to understand that we are not quite disagreeable with each other since we have agreed to agree, holding the work more important than our own point of views, which can often differ greatly, but... but... but... on the following topic we empathically concur.

One of the most paramount issues in the genre in which we write is that of defining love.

We have both agreed it is one of those exceedingly interesting things where it's a case of, you can't define it, though when you see it, you know it. It is as intangible as air but you need it to breathe life into your heart and soul. Even the most angry, most apathetic, most egregious need love in their world, no matter how much they might deny it. People respond to love, grow and blossom, yes, just like flowers as corny as that may sound. Angelica empathically insists that love is different for every person. Zi has taken a position that he is not certain that to be the truth but floating within the metaphysical properties of love are common denominators that can be defined.

Just today we have worked on the following paragraph which is a part of a short we have been developing. We'd like to share it with you.

"The last of her tea slipped past her lips, cooling the parch that settled in her throat, a parch that lingered in her heart as she searched the faces that passed, searched for him, and when the day drew on, she also watched the roll of each wave chasing the next unfolding in white puffs of foam then dissolving, and then again… it unfolding and dissolving… it unfolding and dissolving… it unfolding and dissolving…that sequence never ending… never changing… it was like love, she thought, a lover chasing a lover... minute after minute… hour after hour… day after day… year after year… they dissolving as if lost in one time, their time. She knew this was the way of love, with its wash and roll, soft and subtle, relenting toward an abstract objective though for each it was sharp and precise. But for those who have known love it was abstractly keen. This universally oxymoronic ideal of love first called Adam to Eve and every man since, never waning over all time."

One of the first manuscripts we did together resulted in the following piece of poetry. The reason we are sharing it is it shows the harmony necessary to at minimum respectfully deal with the concept of love. We both admit openly we don't have the answers, but we feel the questions.

ELEUTHEROMANIA vs. MONOPHOBIA
(Excessive zeal for freedom vs. fear of being one)

I’ve cried a million tears for you
And I don’t know why.
You don’t care; you don’t share one
Feeling for me.

I’ve cried a million tears for you.
I love you
And, I could never give a single
Reason why.

As my heart beats as one
Walking life’s paths, hand in none.
I wince, that hurt of silent loneliness
I cry help, I cry… for lovingness.

I’ve cried a million tears for you.
I felt a millions fears.
Chances are you have not thought of
My name, why?

Burning deep inside is a need to be two.
So passionately that time’s blindness would ensue.
Yet, my heart beats as one
Walking life’s paths, hand in none.

I’ve cried a million tears for you.
Wet my pillow case
Night after bitterly lonely night
For you, why?

I’ve cried a million tears for you.
And you have not let one dampen your cheek
I pity your world… your compassion.
I cry… millions... why?

Please free me… from my next tear.
Release your grip upon my heart.
I want the glory of smiles unbridled.
Please free me… from my next fear.

On a daily basis we honor and respect the give and take, pull and draw of that one universally fundamental emotion. Love. It would be the most grievous disservice to any connoisseur of our genre. This we have pledged to each other. Now, outside of the issues of love we have few boundaries. So, grandmothers might piece their navels and uncles might step in dog do-do and the occasional rat might find its way into one's cereal box, but we hope you can trust that our point of view about love is that we believe it is grand and glorious. And, yes, according to Angelica different for every individual

_____

We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009
SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010
CHASING GRAVITAS ~ July 2010
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com

KILLER DOLLS can be purchased at
Champagne Books
http://www.champagnebooks.com/

The Essence of a Hero by Angelica Hart & Zi

THE ESSENCE OF A HERO

The hero of a story must reach into the reader's heart and soul, making he/her believe in that character's reality, must make them want to cheer them on, must ache when they hurt, cringe when they are embarrassed, fear when they are threatened, and cry if they die. But what makes a hero? How do we as writer's reach that conclusion? How do we perceive the essence that will bring about the desired results and have a man say, oh yeah, I'd following him and face the hordes of hell, or a woman yearn to be safe in his arms. We obsess over finding just the right blend of traits and we believe we have touched on one in particular. Russell Crowe… Best Actor. Works for me. Gladiator… Best Film… a study in heroes. Their hero-dom arose from their leadership qualities.

I’d like to exam Russell Crowe in Gladiator and specifically only the first five minutes of the movie. In my view it was these five minutes that set this movie and this character out to be something special. He breathed humanity into the armor clad Maximus. A time when his struggle through life was far from what we’d think humane yet he was strong as well as compassionate.

I saw a portrait of passion coupled with honor. Maximus was magnanimous. Your first vision of him shows an unkempt bearded clear-eyed man. Set poised in the snow flurries of a winter day focused on the moment. Unaffected by the climate. His proud walk amidst his troops reflected an honest connection. His version of high fives, fist to fist, depicted a sharing of strength and a man willing to touch his charges. A man not at arms length but approachable. It was obvious he stood shoulder to shoulder with them during battles. It was the image of a man’s man. A man who’d take the back of his brother-in-arms. Additionally, qualities of one whom was a leader. Not an order giver… but a man in the trenches and showing the way.

He described his army as “…lean and hungry.” Simplistic yet speaks volumes. Their physical shape. Fat free… Un-contented. Focused on a goal. Everything an athlete wishes to be prior to any contest. Everything any businessperson wishes to be prior to any deal. These three words connected to the deep-seated competitor found in most.

When Maximus’ second in command reacted to the Horde’s refusal to surrender with, “They don’t know when they are conquered,” Maximus stoically replied, “Would you… would I?” He honored his foe… his second in command… and himself with respecting the never quit… never give in… never say die attitude. Tenacity toward attaining a goal is a powerful belief, which is held high in the view of most.

His personal preparation for the moment of truth, the battle, was that he stooped, took dirt into his hands and rubs them with it. This unpretentious moment of focus showed a simple man. The dirt absorbing the sweat of his hands, hands that would be his tools in the fight. An act of readiness, a point of demarcation, the line between General and Warrior was seen in this private moment.

His look at his dog, a powerful dog, which showed a man who was complex enough to have such a loyal cur. Historically, an image of a dog as a man’s friend helps show a character deep, confident and human.

Maximus’ salutation to his second in command was “Strength and honor.” Pure genius. Strength…force… power… might… energy… intensity… vigor… brawn… virility. Honor…integrity… honesty… morality… regard… dignity… rectitude. A balance between power and integrity.

Maximus’ final order was “At my signal… unleash Hell!” If you never fought you might not understand. If we fight we must fight to win. I believe this. If we choose to do something, do it as well as we can. Half-fast is half-assed. I respect the pureness of this attitude because it respects the mission of the moment.

A leader emerged before my eyes. Maximus joined his cavalry, the force with which he would be riding into battle. It was at this point in time he showed himself to be a man of vision. Explore the quote, “Imagine where you will be and it will be so…” Visionaries can make great leaders. Their visions capture their followers. But a visionary without substance, i.e., an idea man, does not a leader make. A vision coupled with a willingness to do what’s imagined is the purest form of leadership.

The five minutes ends with this statement by Maximus, “What we do in life echoes in eternity.” The essence of the dream/desire that we want to make a difference on time. We matter. Not just our time but all time. We want to be remembered. We want a legacy. We understand we’re fragile creatures whose fate in life is that we die. So between birth and death what we do must matter. If we can’t buy into to that then we question our purpose to exist at all. We sense our soul will have a life-after thought that is intangible but that tangible life-after is reflected in the monuments we build to ourselves, and these are usually in the forms of accomplishments, people that we have truly affected and our children.

Maximus rises out of these five minutes as a man’s man leader, an unpretentious visionary with a grasp of the magnitude of the moment, a man with an eye on the goal and a passion to do what is essential to achieve it. Powerful stuff.

This is a great man’s flick. However, this was not a chick flick but Maximus is also the personification of a woman's hero.

I share this because it helps define the rare qualities of a real man with character and strength and when we word picture heroes we have to start with an essence. I wrote this many years ago and maybe out-dated but the concept of hero is never.

So why share the aforementioned point of view? As caretakers of the genesis of the characters in our stories, we hold a responsibility to every reader to grabble with imagery and respect the iconic ideals, such as heroism.

In closing, we try to take these and similar traits into the embodiment of our heroes. Though they may be uniquely different in personality, they have that similar underlying core of values, strength, and determination. The sort of man that will cut himself fairly badly but will finish what he is doing before tending to that wound. The sort of man who a woman will feel safe with even when she feels quite capable of protecting herself. The sort of man who will climb into your world, and will stay a part of it, forever.

At least that is what we hope to bring to our heroes. If you read our stories, you'll have to let us know if you agree.

_____

We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009
SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010
CHASING GRAVITAS ~ July 2010
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com

KILLER DOLLS can be purchased at
Champagne Books
http://www.champagnebooks.com/

April Foolery by Angelica Hart & Zi

APRIL FOOLERY

We are Angelica Hart and Zi, authors who have been writing romantic thrillers and fantasy for Champagne Books. We have discovered that life can provide experiences that easily if reflected upon can enhance our writing.

I once found my car in the lobby of the building in which I worked. Was paged to immediately come to that lobby, and subsequently told to get it out of there. My friends as an act of April Foolery had carried it there. It was a Triumph Spitfire. Small.

The building management was displaying an extreme lack of any sense of humor. And my friends were nowhere to be found. One hour later fearing the threat of police intervention I considered contacting the fire company, figuring I'd have to make a nice donation.

Yes, from the corners came my jokester-buds, laughing thinking themselves clever.

Well, the story did not end there. The building called the authorities. They arrived as this lighthearted group of hooligans, were caught in mid-shenanigans, asked if they did it, confessed amidst deep male laughter, and were charged with misdemeanors. I was asked if I wanted felony grand thief auto charges to be levied. I him-n-hawed but eventually after seeing them squirm told the officer not to so charge them.

The moral is that we should all consider our April Foolery in part because a future author may use it.

When writing KILLER DOLLS the antiheroes Vench and Vilgal were toned with some of the perception of the aforementioned cleverness and they like my jokester-buds did not expect the outcome. I think the word picturing of the fruition of our book may be enjoyable. Let us know.

EXCERPT FIVE

She saw his tearing and felt her own flow.

“Jenny had fallen asleep with Hank. They shot them both. I need to believe they never even knew. Mitter kept me from killing them when we caught them, but something

inside me died, and I promised myself I’d never let that happen again. Then I met you and the danger was already there, and with all that every ounce of fear flooded on me,

again. Fresh yet as if an old friend was that ache.”

“I’m so sorry.” She wished not having to say those words and if they were said, to have shared them as a sycophant flattering him somehow, comforting, though the horridness altered that, and she was saddled by the truth, there was pain, his and she felt it, it now theirs.

KILLER DOLLS IS AVAILABLE: Unaware that bio-terrorists are using her handcrafted dolls to attack the innocent, Letti Noel finds herself falling for Taut Johnson, an undercover FBI agent. Even as deceit is a growing barrier to their love, it's the stalking terrorists that are a threat to their lives.

We love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi

KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009

SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010

CHASING GRAVITAS ~ July 2010

angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com

angelicahartandzi.com

Champagne Books

KILLER DOLLS can be purchased at

Champagne Books

http://www.champagnebooks.com/

Tattle and Wrye - November 2009

FROM THE DESK OF

DONA PENZA TATTLE, ESQ.

AND

ASSOCIATE WRYE BALDERDASH

Greetings,

Wrye rolls his rrrs as he announces, "I am Count Wrryeula," and he recites lines from an old Dracula movie, “I bid you velllcome. Leesten is them. Cheeldren of the night... And how vould you know you vere in bed vith Dracula? Verrry interrresting. Maybe, the big D on his jammies. And vhy vouldn't you sleep, he-he, he-he, because of his... coffin?”

"Great costume," Tattle says, grinning under her half mask with the distracting feature of vibrantly-colored feathers, nearly neon in brightness, fanning out from either side of her head.

He turns, cape flowing like a black wave, then he stares at her but remains in character, "You arrre a... birrrd?"

Beak bobs in a nod, "That's cause I wanted to give out tweets last night on Halloween.

Wrye groans and under his breath he says, "A poultry-geist."

Tattle crooks a feathered arm, "Ready for our Love of Literature Leap?

Wryeula shows his fangs, hisses and the two fly off, wing in wing, bird and bat.

Tattle lands on her tail feathers in a fluff of down. Wrye shakes his head, saying, "Molting, maybe you need some scarrre spray."

"Ah, we're in JENNA LEIGH’S THE LAST LEGACY, Paranormal/Fantasy Romance in the land of mystical fantasy where Lilly Tremaine has just escaped the dominating hand of her mother by inheriting her aunt's estate, which allowed her to move to England."

Wyre stops humming the song, Another One Bites the Dust. "The estate is verrry old, any vamps, mysterious ladies of the night?"

"Oh no, m'batty friend, but there is a shape-shifting wyvern, Faelen, yummy to the nth degree of eye-candy, lickable, in whatever form he may come." She turns and winks. "He has special beasty powers, which translate into scooping her up, yes, yes, yes, and off to his world, where magical beings of every consideration exist, fly me there now!" She fans herself with a feathered wing, verklempt.

"Ah, she is instantly... mesmerrrized." A heavy brow lifts and eyes become slits. "Vutt is as sharp as a vampirrre's fang?" Long hesitation, purposely delaying, "His other fang. Lilly is a tasty morrrsel. I'd like to drink her blood, or at least dance a tango."

"No," Tattle says, prances, looking more the blue-hen chicken than the graceful bird-of-paradise, lost in the tale of Lilly.

"No tango?" With the stomp of a bullfighter doing his Paso Doble, he whips his cape and says, "She vill tango vith me."

"No... I meant, Lilly is exasperated with him but it is Faelen's job to protect all Tremaine females. Herrro!" Her tone goes up a notch accompanied by eye-fluttery admiration. "Conflict, of course, ensues, and all hunky Faelen wants is to grant her evvvveeeerrrry fantasy... twitter moment, tweet me." They feigned a flapping hug.

In true Bela Lugosi fashion, he peers over his caped arm and stares deeply, taking in several paragraphs at once. "She is soon attrrracted to him, and he continues to vant her, but... there is one who seeks their deeemise, he he he he he he he heeeee."

"Before there is plot-letting, we must leap."

"Verrry veell, m'Finchy Fowl."

Tattle lands on ballet slipper covered talons, grins as she reads the blurb before entering the story, MIS-STAKED by J. Morgan. Turns back and says, "Hurry, this could be great!"

Wrye hisses, hesitates, holds his ground, holds his water, holds his... we're not going there. "Stake! Stake! Stake everyvherrre and not a drrrop to eat! Yooou did not tell me thiiis book vas about a vampire slayer, hisssss."

"No worries, you should be laughing, showing off your pointers, this is a paranormal romantic comedy." She smiles and spins, channeling Doris Day.

He reads a little, his muscles relax, takes out a yo-yo, does a walk-the-dog, turns to Tattle and says, "Surprisingly seriously invvitting. Want to try my yo-yo? It's a Duncan'do not y'know."

She disinclined the trick though it was a treat, her head bopped like a woody-pecker nibbling seed, insect, and ash. (For all you naughties the type of tree is spelled correctly.) "Breathred E. Petrifunck, say that five times fast, a 35-year-old virgin, oops, lives in his father's basement, ya-huh, has a mail order diploma establishing himself as an authentic slayer, like who doesn't, a girlfriend, goodie-goodie for him, who has a dark mega secret she's not sharing, ooooo, and he has a familiar named Stud Lee Monkey, a talking chimpanzee... ooookay... Smilefest!"

"No way," Wrye states, stunned into momentarily dropping his Lugosi impersonation. The accent returns. "I see, therrre is a vampirrre prince who vishes to rrresurrect the mother queen vampirrre and he needs a thirty-five year-old virrrgin to do so. An old vampirrrest... vhat's pink, gray, wrinkly, and old and belongs to Vampa-Grandpa?" Aghast freckles Tattles face as she perceives naughty Wryeula but was Mis-staken as Wrye delivers, "Vampma-Grandma."

"This is a book circulating trouble and laughter."

"A bloody hoot-n-holler. I vish to stay and rrread more."

"No way, batty man, we gotta fly."

White light opens, they enter, "Verrry intrrriguing. I feel quite velcome here. Is this Transylvania, a terror-tory?" Wrye announces as he takes in the eerie home, its stuffed, dusty, armchairs and veined mirrors, enjoying its milieu. "Is this not GHOULISH LOVE by Michelle Libby, a contemporary romance?" He turns to Tattle and asks, "Vhat happens vhen I can't keep up my payment on my exorcise facility... it's repossessed! Hissssss."

She tugs at her thigh high, striped multi-colored sock that had fallen to her ankle. "Oh, yes, haunted houses can be so delightful this time of year. Boo-tiful. Can't keep this thing up, got any duct tape, if you can't fix it, duct it!" She found a rubber band which was adaptable as a garter. "Alas, Sierra not-the-desert Tibbets doesn't think so, though... though... though... In fact, having too many pranks played on her as a child, she does not like Halloween nor haunted houses. Party-pooper, although, still finger paint her eye-fetching."

Wrye plays with different menacing poses as if about to attack, faux fangs out, fingers curled until Tattle gives him a bird's eye peek-a-boo look. "Vhut... Then vhut is she doing here this evvenninng, and vith Nate Andrews, the very one who adores tormenting her. Vill there be sucking... blood?"

"Nate fancies her and he has this one night to win her trust. Prrresssure! They are in a contest to stay the entire night in this haunted house, winner gets 5,000 dollars, which Sierra needs to win for her sister... sibling bribery? I knooooww, not telling... Twick or tweet."

"I seee said the carpenter as he picked up his hammer and saw, despite their speckled past, she cannot deny the sexual attraction, weeeooo, and the two seem to be full of vit and vigor... viss and vinegar... bantering into... beeeed? Tell meeee, pleeeasssse!"

She spins that I-know-something-you-don't-know spin, gets dizzy and collapses, beak goes askew, and says, "Meant to do that. Here's a tease for Count Wryeula. Nate is here to do do do what he loves to do do do on the holiday he lovvves. And the wicked of it all despite her wanting to win is I suspect something more is brrrewing, wicked this way may come." She looks at Wrye and offers an exaggerated wink.

Behind Tattle, his eyebrows do a waggle. "Should we find out just vhat?"

"Later... Count Living Impaired get it... get it... get it... undead?"

"Don't spook until you're spooken to. Hisssss."

Hope you enjoyed! Next month we have many gifts to read just in time for the holidays, NOELLA'S GIFT by Donica Covey and ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS by Cindy K. Green and Julie Eberhart Painter's, MORTAL COIL.

Double-cheek kisses,

Dona Penza Rutabaga Tattle, Esq.

and Associate Wrye Balderdash

of Blather City, Wannachat

Created and written by

Angelica Hart and Zi

KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009

SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010

CHASING GRAVITAS (working title) ~ July 2010

Champagne Books

angelicahartandzi.com

Trailer for Killer Dolls by Angelica Hart and Zi