Yes. It’s official. I’ve jumped.

Into the Paranormal Pool.

Just for fun I’ve submitted to Samhain’s On the Prowl category, which features shape-shifting cats.

Stop laughing right now. You remind me of my kids.

I find the idea very appealing—they’ve told me the concept they want and determined the 20,000-30,000 word count. I, who frequently get verrrry stuck around 60,000 words (as I am right now in Paradise), am delighted by this.

I’ve already written a slew of novellas. In a future blog, I’m going to condense them into one-sentence blurbs and you can be stunned by my range as a writer and snicker all you want. Not for nothing is my alterna-blog Begin As You Mean To Go On subtitled “prologues and first chapters from a genre- confused writer.” Unfortunately, I couldn’t see my way clear to inserting shape-shifting cats into anything I’ve already written without wanting to cough up a fur ball.

Now before you think I’m going to drown in the Paranormal Pool, let it be known that in my genre-bending book Third-Rate Romance, I do a little vampire riff. Here’s a snippet:

Lucien stirred, his sleep disturbed. A noise below. Not the scrabbling of the manor mice. A human noise.

His hunger. It overwhelmed him. The housekeeper would have left him something in the larder. Someone else better not be eating it.

He flung the tapestry counterpane from his bed. The moon had already risen beyond the window, orange as a Tangier melon. But it had been years since he left his country estate. His life was bound here, tied in knots as intricate as a spider’s web.

Lucien belted his velvet robe over his lean, naked body. He padded barefoot down the stairs, not feeling the chill of the worn stones. The only thing he knew was the hunger, nearly painful in its intensity.

The noise again. A rustle. A thud. A soft curse.

His body vanished against the wall, the shadows in his kitchen elongated by a single taper. All of Lucien’s senses were on full alert. He frowned, concentrating on the candle. It flickered once and extinguished.


The voice was young, female. Ripe. She smelled fresh, like apples. But she was hungry, too. A state she was not used to, for Lucien could nearly touch the soft swelling of well-nourished flesh beneath her woolen cloak. Delicious.

So, cats, vampires, they’ve all got teeth, right?

What’s your very favorite genre to read or write? Have you ever tried something that is completely outside your area of expertise? I’m still trying to find where my area of expertise is. I seem to have misplaced it.