What comes first, might be the last thing you write

Well as sad as it is, today is the last day of my tour here at Kayden's. But I'm sure she'll have me here again at some point or another. So, thank you Kayden for having me here at your blog. Hope I didn't leave too many things out of place.

The past two days I spoke of my last two horror releases at Moongypsy Press. But, as some of you know, there is a heart somewhere inside me (laughs) and it does get a chance to show itself. My latest release with Moongypsy Press, Ghosts of the Storm, is one of those stories where my muse and heart worked together, weaving a tale of love, loss and yes, some paranormal.

In some of my previous blogs I spoke of my muse messing with me in hot tubs and how some of my personal life had played an important role in creating Ghosts of the Storm. Small things like placing the setting just outside of my father's property he used to own in McDavid, the Piggly Wiggly that I called the County Pig, and the rabbit farm just a short distance from my dad's house. Oh and let's not forget that there really was (I haven't been to McDavid in years) only two to three gas stations on that long stretch of road.

But today I wanted to talk about another part of the story that I found to be fun and exciting. The finish line.

Once Bobby started telling me the his version of Ghosts of the Storm, I immediately began pecking at the keys. But one thing caught my eye from the begging of the story. Here, let me show you:

Now, if you met Joe on any given day, you'd have thought the sun shined out his asshole or something of the like. He smiled like he was the only man in on some joke on the world and never, and I mean never, gave you a cross look, even if you ran over his dog. I know. I did that one day and felt like shit for it. Anyone does something like that to Joe would bend over backwards to make it right, just 'cause Joe never did any harm. His wife on the other hand… well, we'll get to her soon enough. Right now, we're still talking about Joe sitting at the end of his driveway during the night of the storm.

"You'd have thought the sun shined out his asshole," still makes me laugh each time I read it. And I'd like to venture that we all know people like that. I'm sure some of us at times wish we were that person who seems to be perpetually happy no matter what. Well except for Joe, who the readers find out really isn't as happy has he's always made them to believe.

Well, I knew early on that this story would be a tragedy and that I wanted the readers to feel their hearts ache for my characters. Even a little for Bobby, my narrator. But that damn phrase kept sticking out in my mind. How can you make someone's heart ache with a visual of sun blasting out someone's backside? But it was simple. I just made the sun shine out someone else's ass! Crazy how that works, but if you read Ghosts of the Storm, you'll see what I mean.

So without any delay, I wrote the last paragraph of my story and I'd be damned if it didn't serve as my guide all the way through writing it. Each time I felt unsure about where I was going, or if I'd be able to finish, I'd read that paragraph and feel my heart ache for Bobby. Next thing I'd find is me typing hundreds of words again. As always, it's Bobby's story and without him I don't think it would have been nearly as interesting.

So dear readers, there you have it. I started my story at the finish line and then caught up to myself in the end. And speaking of finish lines, we have reached ours here both in this entry and at Kayden's for this tour. I do hope you all enjoyed what I had to say and hope to see you all soon, both here and at all the other places I've been stopping.

Take care in all you do,
Trent Kinsey

http://www.trentkinsey.com/

http://www.moongypsypress.com/kinsey.php

http://www.trentkinsey.com/books/ghosts/ghosts.php

Welcome Tabitha, and her new book Witch's Magic

Hello Readers!

My fellow Paranormal author at Eternal Press, Tabitha Shay, has just released her latest book in the Winslow Witches series, Witch’s Magic. I’m excited to present to you the prologue of this latest fabulous book. So, please read on!
Hint, hint….where to buy: www.eternalpress.ca
http://www.tabithashay.com

Disclaimer: Explicit Language….eighteen plus, please.
Until next time…

Tabitha

Prologue of Witch's Magic

We are in Transylvania, and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things.
~Dracula (Bram Stoker)

Transylvania
Anghel Crypt
Resting Place of Dracula
Mortal Realm


A Do Not Disturb sign swung from an old, rusty chain at the foot of his coffin. He knew it was there.
By the gods, he’d hung it himself before retiring at least five centuries ago.
So why am I being disturbed? Damned illiterates, can’t they read? How was a creature supposed to rest if…?
I said wake up! I need your help.
Annoyed at the rude intrusion blasting his mind and interrupting his most private thoughts, Count Dracula snorted. I hoped it was merely indigestion giving me heartburn or the wind rattling my chain, but truly, do I hear an upstart who dares to enter my sanctum? Go away!
He had not walked among his clan in many centuries. And there was good reason. The world held no surprises. No happiness. No romance. Chivalry was as good as dead. Buried. Well, dead, maybe not buried. He shuddered at the thought of being under all that dirt. And by the gods, he was the most chivalrous being he knew.
Still, it was downright depressing. There were no more knights in shining armor. No damsels in distress. No Rapunzels with thick ropes of hair to toss out a tower window and her one true love scale the wall to rescue her from the evildoer. No unicorns. The last dragon was slain right before he decided he’d had enough of the world.
He’d seen and done it all to the point of boredom; to avoid spending useless years with nothing better to do with his time than to suck and fuck, he took to his coffin centuries early. To be content a vampire needed challenge. Romance. Sex. Oh yeah, lots of the hot stuff.
Brutal honesty forced him to admit he was glad he no longer spent time with his clan, but he hadn’t exactly resigned his position of Ruler of the Ancient Tribunal. It was more like he’d materialized into a bat one night and winged his way off the job, leaving an abrupt message he’d had enough. He’d planned to spend the next several millennia in the sacred Sleep of the Druze, an ancient sleep, and one only the very eldest achieved.
He hadn’t obtained his goal…yet.
The only thing he craved was peace. Rest. Quiet. He had no need to feed, except when the hunger became too much to ignore. He was perfectly happy snatching a bothersome rat when one ventured too close to his coffin. Then he had a quickie snack and went back to sleep.
Rats were good. Dammit, they were!
They might not be hardy, filling or nutritious, but they contained enough blood to sustain life…for a few weeks at a time.
Being one of the Ancients, his need for rest was much more crucial than his need to feed. At his age, all he wanted to do was prop up his feet, so to speak. Yes, peace and quiet was all he craved now. Well, and the occasional female. Two. Three.
No one had dared to disturb him...until now.
So who was this, this person who called to him? A voice he did not recognize. Not surprising. It had been a long time since he’d mentally connected with anyone. He’d pretty much forgotten the sound of speech.
He stirred inside the raggedy satin-lined coffin hidden in a decaying old crypt, all but lost by the passage of time. The only ones who knew where he slumbered were the two other members of the Ancient Tribunal. So how had the upstart rapping on his coffin dug him up?
Get up!
Dracula cocked an ear. Nope, he didn’t have a clue who was silently yelling at him. It wasn’t an Ancient who summoned, but one of the Children, one of the Young Ones.
Annoyance surged through his veins, veins dried and withered to threads from lack of sustenance. Waking an Ancient who had not fed thoroughly for years was strictly forbidden to the Young Ones. It created a danger for all who came near him for several hours.
There were rules, and reasons for those rules. If awakened in a state of extreme hunger, he’d attack and feed until he drained the person dry; then he’d go for the next, and the next, until he was engorged.
Gluttony was a shameful act for his kind. He’d die from embarrassment if discovered devouring his food, that is, if the undead weren’t already in that precarious state.
It was imperative he be awakened slowly.
Nourished slowly.
Regain his strength slowly.
And it was extremely vital at least four females awaited him when he rose. Everyone knew a vampire who’d Druze-slept woke violently horny.
You dare break the laws of our people? Disobey my orders? Ignore my sign? Disturb my slumber?
Yes! Now, get up!
Stop knocking on my coffin! I’m at rest. I need my rest. Go away, upstart.
I need your help, your wisdom, your guidance.
Do I know you?
Don’t pretend you don’t know who I am, Grandfather. You might be Ancient, but there’s nothing wrong with your memory.
Huh?
And don’t pretend you’re deaf. I know your hearing is acute. You can hear a pin drop three miles away.
Huh! Do you have four females waiting for me?
No. You don’t have time to fuck.
No time to fuck? Incredulous, Dracula’s eyes popped open. Aw, shit! There are two spiders doing ‘it’ on the ceiling of my coffin! He shuddered. You know what that means? I’ll be sharing my sleeping quarters with hundreds of their little bastards. I detest the creatures. Always moving in and taking over a fellow’s home. I suppose that means I must give up my bed.
He cleared his throat. Son, listen to me very closely. One must always make time to fuck. Spiders do.
“Filthy vermin. Freeloaders. Go find your own house!” He slapped at the ill-mannered eight-legged arachnids doing the ‘nasty’ above his head.
I’m not your son. And no, there is no time. A war comes, a terrible war.
You woke me because of a lousy war? Pish! There have always been wars. There will always be wars.
Not like this one.
A sigh. What is different about this one? Nothing. Don’t you recall your bloody ancestor and all his wars? Do you have any idea how many people I impaled? Now those were the good old days. Chop. Chop. They got in the way, up on the pike they went. I made damn certain of it. Just thinking about it makes me tired. Let me go back to sleep. There will be casualties, son. There are always casualties. We live. Some die. Others do not. Our kind goes on…if we breed. To breed we must fuck! No time to fuck, my ass! I want to talk to the person who schooled you. He didn’t teach you a thing. Who was he?
You.
Oh.
There’s no time for sex, Grandfather. Not this time. There’s no time to waste. We are too few.
Uh-huh, that’s from not fucking!
For the gods’ sake, this war might see the end of our kind.
A snort. Why do you think such nonsense?
Because this war isn’t simply battles amongst our own, but one that will include the forces from all realms: Vampyre, Demon, Witch and Were. Only the gods know which other realms might become involved. I’m afraid it’s only the beginning. You must rise.
I don’t want to rise.
You’ve slept long enough, Grandfather. Get up. I can’t do this by myself. Get up. Now!
All right! Stop ordering me to get up. No need to get snappy. How do you know this war comes?
I’ve seen it in visions.
Visions? If you’ve seen it in visions, then when will it come? I could sleep until…
No. Get up. Now!
A drawn-out suffering sigh.
When will it begin?
It has already begun…