Things I wrote for school...When Death Wore a Suit

The Plague Suit

Most of us are aware that the Bubonic Plague, because of fleas and carried on the backs of rodents, spread throughout Medieval Europe and killed a lot of people. Since cats were being killed at the time due to their obvious ties to witchcraft, nothing stood between an unknowing populace and the Black Death. Deathships full of people  dead or dying from the plague and their accompanying insect populations brought disease to all reaches of the ancient world and people led by superstition and ruled by fear didn’t know how to conquer it.

Plague physicians were specifically hired by towns in time of epidemic. Treating both the rich and poor, they weren’t usually actually trained doctors, rather young or crappy doctors that couldn’t otherwise find work—sometimes even fruit sellers who wanted to make more money. Being a plague physician was lucrative work since real doctors fled as the plague traveled, knowing nothing they could do would stop the death toll from rising.

In this era, they believed that the plague was being carried by birds so these doctors often wore a mask shaped like the beak of a bird. Red glass eyes peered out of the creepy beaked mask to further dissuade evil from conquering the fake docs. The plague attacked the glands, so the doctor would cover the neck and face with fabric or the mask. The beak of the mask could be filled with flowers or other sweet smelling things to protect the wearer from the reek of death which would make them sick. Protected from the "miasma," they’d cover their robes with suet to further keep disease from bringing them as low as their patients.

Plague doctors were allowed to preform autopsies—not allowed at the time for any other practicing medical professional since it could be considered witchcraft—to try to find a cure. They carried a cane so they didn’t have to touch the bodies of the sick and to help repent the ill from their sins. Although sometimes used to point family members in various directions, they would poke or beat the sick with the cane also, since this was a possible cure and it allowed the doctor to avoid close exposure to the sickness.

 

Aside from beating the evil out of the sick, they could also practice bloodletting and putting frogs on the humors to attempt to cure their patients. The image above is a 1656 engraving done by Paul Furst called the Doctor Beak of Rome  (Wikepedia) which included the traditional fitted and wide brimmed black hat to identify the doctor, the gas mask full of herbs shaped like a bird, the red glass eye pieces to ward off evil, the black overcoat, the cane and the waders. To modern times, the mask is still a sign of death and is popular in many parades.

So, my readers...picture a person wearing a giant beak peering at you with red glass eyes wearing a long overcoat and beating the sick out of you.

Good times, right?

New Release : Claimed by the Alpha

Claimed by the Alpha
by Saranna DeWylde
Harlequin Nocturne Cravings

Buy Links

Amazon | Barnes & Noble

As Alpha of the Alphas, it's Luka Stanislav's duty to hunt down and eliminate rogue werewolves that have been turned into zombies by an insidious virus. His task becomes infinitely more difficult when alluring Guild officer Marijka Zolinski arrives to investigate the death of her partner.

An irresistible wave of desire draws him to Marijka, and their overwhelming passion signals that Luka has found his true mate at last. But gypsy blood flows hot in her veins—and a bond between wolf and gypsy can never be. Still, after one night of ecstasy, Luka can't stop thinking of claiming Marijka as his own….

 

Virg's Thoughts: Although I'm a rabid DeWylde fan and will admit that openly, this book and series sizzled right off my screen. Luka is the perfect combination of strong, dominant alpha and redeemable, tender hero. Marijka is a strong, independent female who goes toe to toe with Luka, demanding satisfaction in more way than one. This book left me intrigued, satisfied, wiping steam from my eye glasses and excited to read more. I fully endorse it and if you pick up a copy, come chat with me in the comments section because I've been DYING to talk about how fantastic it is!! Available now, buy links above.

MIssing You

Life is funny. Sometimes it feels like we're all in these boats, bobbing around in the ocean. The funny thing about the ocean is that it's HUGE. Covers something like 70% of the world, meaning we're clinging to about 30% of our planet, the rare rocky bits.

Well, we're in those metaphorical boats and no one is in OUR boat. Even our kids are in boats that are sometimes moored on the side of ours and other times they're attached to other boats (Whether at daycare, visiting folks, or when they finally set off on their own adventures) but never IN our boat. Unless, well, you're pregnant. I guess that would be the metaphorical exception.

We might fall in love--tie our boat to someone else's. We might have times in our life when we're surrounded by other boats...but at the end of the day, you wake up with yourself.




Missing You

Sometimes we don't realize how important some of the other boats we encounter are.
Like today, I'm missing my Aunt Lee. When the water got rough, when things were good, I always knew I could call her and she'd listen.

We can chart the course for our boat like everyone else. We can follow in the wake of others and it will make for an easy ride.

Or we can set off on our own. That means we're going to find storms, monsters, all sorts of bad things and there's a chance no one will be around to help us get out of whatever scrapes we get into.

Setting off on your own is rough. It means you might fail. You might get a hole in your boat, you might flip the darn thing in a hurricane. No one is going to be around, not for sure, to rescue you if you go overboard or are attacked.

But it also means you might find happiness or something wonderful you never dreamed of.

I've been in my own boat for a long time. Sometimes I get impatient because the waters are rough and I don't have a life jacket. Most of the time though...

I keep my eye on the horizon and keep plodding along.

Guess the point of this whole thing was, Miss you, Aunt Lee. I carry you with me, in my heart, and I wish I could hear your voice again, even for a moment.

Love you,
Turkey

Spotlight on...Eden Glenn!

Today we have a special guest...Eden Glenn!

Some Q&A with Eden...

1.     Who is your favorite character in this book and why? 

My favorite character in Phoenix Reborn is Tameron Murphy. I spent many years being a care giver and can relate to the mixed burden/joy that is. When I finished the story I realized it was a lot about that journey of seeking help and getting relief so you can enjoy the things that brought you to love the person in the first place. Often that love gets buried under the day to day struggle.

2.     What inspires you for your stories?  

I find inspiration in everyday things. The Amethyst Desire Collection came to me when I saw an amethyst necklace. The first story a menage’ erotic romance “Raynia’s Magic” came from that first contact with the pendant. Other stories have emerged with the ‘perhaps’ magical pendant being featured as a prop.

3.     Tell us something no one else knows about you.  

Humm, let’s see. I was taught to swim by a Weekie Wachie Mermaid.

4.     What genre classification would you put on your book and what would you consider the heat level of the romance? 

My stories are short novella’s and novellettes at this juncture. They are all definitely erotic romance. Some are paranormal, some contemporary and one even a historic. The couple parings range from male/male, female/female and all combinations of menage’ and polyamorous partnering. Phoenix Reborn is an erotic paranormal lesbian romance featuring two strong women shapeshifters.

5.    When did you start writing and what kicked off your passion to be an author?

Funny question. I wrote my first romance when I was 14. It was a western. Think Zane Grey meets Twilight via Shades of Grey. I remember thinking it was wonderful and it involved a lot of kidnapping, bondage in panoramic western settings. LOL. It was horrible. I don’t even know where it ended up. I wrote it by hand in a notebook. Oh how far authors have come since then.

In 2005 I was diagnosed with breast cancer and to escape the reality of that stage of my life I started writing again. This time is was an erotic space romance. Think Star Wars meets Spartacus. Equally horrible. However, that led me to find the Romance Writers of America and sparked my involvement with First Coast Romance Writers. I finally had the opportunity to start learning the craft of writing.

Phoenix Reborn  

By Eden Glenn

Publisher: Rebel Ink Press

~Buy Links~

Amazon | All Romance Ebooks | B&N | Bookstrand

BLURB

Phoenix shifter, Phyro Khant, and her dragon bodyguard, Tameron Murphy, are two loners that bonded together for love and safety. But their never-ending need to evade the dark witches that hunt Phyro for her Phoenix tears, blood and more, has worn them down and flat lined their relationship.

When Tam purchases Phyro an amethyst pendant from Salynne’s Crystals and Thyme, her efforts to imbue the stone with protective power backfires and grabs them with a spell previously coded into the stone. The magic ignites an inferno of passion the two lovers can’t seem to quench with any amount of sex.

Will their explosive passion be enough to teach them how to trust in time to accept the help they need from outsiders or will the witches win their final bid for power and control of the phoenix magic?

Excerpt

Her eyes fluttered shut. She slowed her breathing, sinking deeper to a place of in between. She drifted in and out of consciousness wishing she could remember what had happened to leave her in this battered state, naked on the ground. Naked seemed to indicate that at some juncture she had shifted to avian form to escape someone. How else could she have gotten this deep into the forest? She couldn’t worry about being safe or not, there wasn’t energy to fight. Be calm and let her Phoenix nature do its job. She’d trust to come out the other side stronger.

She willed her body to heal and grasped at wisps of memory. A metaphysical pull tugged inside her, one of loss and longing. Struggling to sit up, she gasped for breath in shallow pants. The raw clenched energy twisted her again. Tam! She needed to be home with her mate. Something had drawn her from their apartment without leaving word for Tam that she would be away. Phyro shook her head trying to clear her thoughts. No… bad idea, too soon. She groaned and lay back. Damn. Five minutes more. The setting sun warmed her skin.

The energy wrenched her again. Her shape dissolved and reformed without conscious thought or will to follow the summons of her chosen mate. She took to the air in Phoenix form with a scream of exhilaration at her freedom, flying toward the source.

About the Author

Eden Glenn and her partner "the Lady Librarian" live in the eastern lee of the Appalachian Mountains outside of Asheville, NC in a quaint home brimming of southern charm. The cottage is surrounded by beautiful southern gardens that bloom year round and give Eden lots of garden projects to enjoy. Their family includes a cat and a lovable nuisance dog (Lab X Great Dane) that should be in Japan. Eden has blue eyes, but her hair color is subject to change without notice.

www.edenglenn.com

Romance so hot it burns off the page. Leave your safe world behind.

 

My hugs and love go out to the parents of autistic children

I've sat on this story for about a day because I wasn't sure how to put into words my heartache and grief that a family is struggling this hard and that no intervention saved them from what happened.

Kelli Stapleton has written a blog for some time chronicling her struggles and triumphs raising a very aggressive autistic child. Her extremely open and honest journey can be viewed on her blog, The Status Woe, and she's even posted videos of trying to make the behavior plan work...

I think that video gets me the most. After the inciting incident, it looks like the intervention specialists or counselors send Kelli across the room and you see her huddled in the doorway with her fists pressed to her mouth while she watches her child and can't help.

To say that Kelli seemed like an intelligent woman who, when faced with challenges, tried to rise up and meet them isn't a leap.

To say that being a caregiver to a child who...

God, I'm crying. Gimme a second here.

Kelli looks like she loves her child. I don't think lack of love had a thing to do with the horrible falling of dominoes that drove her to do something so...

Basically, I think I just wanted to say that caregivers? It's okay for it to be too much sometimes. We all feel isolated, like no one gets what we're going through. Like we're alone, holding this Atlas variety weight on our shoulders, and no one is going to ever lift it.

We can't always make the right choices. We can't always be perfect--no parent is and yet as a caregiver to a special needs child, we're expected to be.

Ask for help. Walk away. Run away if you have to.

Know you're not alone.

I wish I could give you all a big hug and tell you it's okay to have weak moments. To be scared. To not know what to do.

It's okay to fail. You can fix almost anything.

Almost.

I'm going to cry about this some more now. If you are a caregiver, take a moment today to take a good clean breath. Close your eyes and really just let it all go, if even for just a second.

If you know a caregiver, tell them they're not alone. Give them a big hug, man. They might need it.

I think the part in her last blog that got me the most was, "I have to admit that I’m suffering from a severe case of battle fatigue.  I’m so happy that Issy has successfully completed treatment.  It was a miracle making that happen.  But I never once had any peace or rest."

*sigh*

Gimme!! My birthday request

Some of you got me wonderful gifts...

From my adopted mom, who went and paid my car insurance for me since I hadn't gotten to it, to my writerfriend who got me a kickass Van Gogh Exploding TARDIS mug, I got some very cool presents.

A bunch of you? You didn't get me anything *wails!*

So, I have a request. This will make it all better, I promise. But first I have to tell you a story...

I couldn't sleep the night before my birthday. We're having a weird heatwave in Ohio and I don't have ac, only two small fans. Usually, that's more than enough, but the night of the 10th/eve of the 11th? Sweltering in my remodeled barn home. When it finally cooled enough that I could attempt to sleep, I moved to my bed...

And stabbed my heel on a piece of glass from godknows where. Blood squirted out of my foot and onto my favorite quilt. Bawling, because I ruined my favorite quilt with my stupid blood, I yanked out the glass and rinsed my foot. I put a bandage on it and tried to sleep for a couple hours.

I was waked on the morning of my birthday by my boys yelling at me. One forgot a book, just little things, but they were angry voices and neither remembered it was my birthday before they headed off to school. Since today is my one 'late' day a week, I won't see either of the cranky testosterone junkies until bedtime tonight.

I then headed to the living room to sit in my favorite chair. The cat joined me, seating herself on the back--which is fine. Sweet even that she wanted to hang out with me.

You know, until she horked a hairball on my shoulder. My daughter, as if feeling out of the make mom miserable campaign, started complaining about the lack of ham in the refrigerator. I'd bought bagels and philly, but I forgot HAM??? It was unacceptable, she advised me.

But you know what? Compared to 2001, this birthday ROCKS.

I'm not watching people fall to their death, search for their family members, stare at the skies not knowing when the next horror will come or where it will hit.

On my birthday in 2001, I woke up to a beautiful sunshiney day. All three of my babies (and since the youngest was less than a month old, the term babies actually applies) woke in great moods and we were hanging out in my living room with the sliding glass door open to let in as much sun and fresh air as possible. I haven't always had the best of health so I'd been told I probably wouldn't survive the delivery of my now one month old son...so I was celebrating a birthday win--I shouldn't be around to see this birthday. How cool is this?

When my mom called, I figured she was merely calling to say, "Happy Birthday!"

Instead, she asked, "Are you watching the tv?"
"Yup," I chirped. "Rugrats."
"Turn on the news."
Her tone sent chills rushing across my arms and I shook my head as if to rid myself of the feeling of foreboding. "What channel?"
"Doesn't matter."

It didn't matter. I fell to my knees when the second plane hit. When people fell like paper from the windows, I wept. When the tower fell, I sprung into action.

I needed to protect my kids. Take them somewhere safe. I wasn't sure where 'safe' was, but I'm near the Canadian border--within a few hours of driving range to that border. If America was under attack, I needed to get my children OUT of America.

I'd like to say I had thoughts of helping others, but my first parental instinct was to protect my kids. Only later did I want to do something for others beyond my babies.

I packed them up, a few days of clothes and food and diapers. Stopped at my mother's on my way out of town to see them say on the news that they'd closed the borders. It seemed we weren't running after all.

I went to my son's grandmothers and began the vigil so many kept that day. Watching the news, watching the replays, weeping. Worrying. Upon leaving her house, I saw long lines at the gas stations, closed businesses, a small town brought to a screeching halt by the events of the day.

Once I got back to my apartment, I put the kids to bed early to begin my nighttime vigil of the news. They aired constant streaming information that day. Darkness had overtaken our village by the time the knock came at the sliding glass door.

My dear friend, Ryan, stood outside, a sixpack of Mike's Hard Lemonade in hand. "Happy Birthday," he said. Suddenly I remembered. It was my birthday. He was the only one who remembered. I told him as much and he gave his signature crooked and self-deprecating grin. "This is kind of for me. I figured I wouldn't get any sleep unless you drank some. It will calm you down."

He stayed that night. I drank one of the drinks and curled up on one couch while he stretched out on another, both facing the television and the horrific news as it streamed. Knowing he was near, that it wasn't just me here to protect my babies from whatever new terror the night could bring, allowed me to get some sleep.

That horrible birthday taught me one important thing...

1. None of the things we spend so much time and energy worrying about really matter.

It's not about the gifts, the one upping of the Joneses, the what are you wearing or who are your friends. It's about family. It's about friends who are there for you when you're scared in the dark. It's about people who know you need them and show up even when you don't ask.

Which made me look at all future birthdays in a whole new light. I like presents (I like CAKE. Man, do I love cake.) but if I never got another one? I could live with that.

Sooooo now you're wondering what I want for my birthday since I said I didn't want presents, but I titled this post, "GIMME!!"

Could everyone who reads this far do me a favor, instead? One random act of kindness.

If it's anonymous, all the better. On my birthday in 2001, people did some awesome acts of kindness. Maybe they weren't enough to balance out the horror, but they did amazing things. People who owned boats pulled off the most massive and fast evacuation in all of history. People gave water to those walking out of the Battery. People went into those towers and died trying to save strangers.

I don't expect anyone to rush into a burning building, but could you do something? Buy a stranger's coffee, pick up a piece of litter from the street, if you see someone crying-hold their hand. Just one act--I'm not greedy, after all.

If everyone who reads this does just one little thing, my birthday will be the best birthday ever. You don't have to tell me what thing you did (You're welcome to. I always love hearing from you all, so tell me whatever. I actually answer, too, so long as you're not trying to sell me something/date me from another country/ask to see my breasts.) just do it. I don't have to know what it was or that you did it. You'll know you did...and it will mean a lot to me, regardless.

So, yes, this is my birthday request. I love you guys. Thanks for reading one old lady's rambling.

*kisses*
Virg

*kermit armflapping* RUNAWAY GROOM IS UP FOR PREORDER!! *more armflapping*

So, those of you who've followed me for awhile know I'm super excited about my January release with Samhain Publishing, Runaway Groom. From Lucky Sevens posts to cover art reveals to teasers...I'm just super excited about this book.

AND NOW IT IS UP FOR PREORDER.

Yeah. That goes on the list of coolest birthday presents ever. Thank you, Samhain!!

So, if you've somehow missed out on all my blathering about this book, let me tell you a little something about it.

About the Book

On Sale: January 2014

 

Book 1 of the Watkin's Pond Series. "Small town can mean big romance."

 

BUY LINK!! Preorder now on Amazon, pretty please!

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00F2NX6ZG/

The groom is back in town.

Abigail lost her best friend years ago when he ditched her at the altar like a loaf of stale bread. Now he’s back and determined to do whatever he has to—even lie, apparently—to get under her skin. Although he makes her hormones rev to life in a way that no one has since he left, she is equally determined not to fall for his boy-next-door charm.

His bride-to-be is somewhat reluctant.

Braxton Dean was too young and stupid to know better when he walked away. Years of trying to fill the Abby-shaped hole in his heart have left him empty, and now he’s going to win back his girl—or get over her. But first he needs answers. Particularly why she never responded to any of his letters.

It might take a whole town to make this wedding happen.

With the help of their friends, the two battle it out. The army? An entire town of busybodies. The prize? Happily ever after.

Warning: Contains indignant old ladies, steamy sex (but not with indignant old ladies), seduction cake, and condom bouquets. Yes, we went there.