(My Original Blog Post: http://ping.fm/eRorx)
I decided that after all my hunting I didn't like the one column blog style, so I broke out the CS3 and used up my about to expire credits at istockphoto.com and voila! Now just to get the entry page done :)
I've had quite a rush of people emailing me over the last few weeks asking about Huntingdawn 3, and just what is going to happen with the prophecy. Well, I can't tell you that now, can I, but I've finally (big heaving sigh of relief) finished off the follow on from Curious Intimacies (tentatively titled Subtle Domination) and despatched it to my editor, so on to Huntingdawn 3 it is!
I've already gotten a couple of thousand words into Dave and Betty's story - an odd pair of names, right? Originally Betty was supposed to be a dragon... I sooooo wanted her to be a dragon, but the editor nixed that idea *sob*. A dragon, named Betty, mated up to a bobcat Were called Dave... hilarious, no? So I had to come up with a different beast with wings.
I think the working title of The Owl and the Pussycat might give away where I'm heading :)
How about a very rough excerpt to give you a little taste of the heroine and her entry into Rockville.
Betty eyed the small green sign that announced the city limits of Rockville, population approx thirty-five thousand and wondered if it was a federal offense to kick it to the ground and stomp on it with definite intent to do bodily harm.
“Knowing my luck lately, it would be.” Instead, she parked her butt against the upright of the sign, leaned over and dug around in her shoe for the Rock-of-Gibraltar-sized stone that had worked its way in there. She put her foot back down with a sigh of relief, and opened her hand to inspect her evil nemesis, The Rock, only to find it was nothing more than a piece of gravel—a tiny one at that.
“Damn it!” Limping back to the middle of the barely two-lane road she turned, snarled at the sign and launched her petty turn of revenge. Tiny as it was it only made a tinny clink against the metal, not a nice, resounding clunk, but it was enough to satisfy a portion of her indignation.
“Why-oh-why did I have the radio so loud?” With her hand up, shading her eyes, Betty peered back along the road trying to see her abandoned car. Nothing. Not even a glint off the flaking chrome bumper. If she hadn’t been enjoying the day, windows down, wind in her hair, rocking out to music she might have caught the knock-knock noise sooner. Like back near a garage, not four-miles-from-anywhere sooner. It’s not like she shouldn’t have expected it—the radio and speakers were the only thing not original on the damn car.
If wishes were horses… Who am I kidding? I’m allergic to horses, I’d still be walking. And while she did have another option, the need to keep a low profile ruled that out.
Aching legs and ankles protesting she swung back around to the city sign and gave it a final one-fingered salute before resuming her trudge toward the city dragging her bag behind her.