Happy Friday everyone. Please visit the 7 Scribes and read my Friday post – To Sequel or not to Sequel.

As reported last week, the book is gone. Off in the hands of my critique partners and beta readers.

Gone. . .

So now what?

Do I sit around twiddling my thumbs? No way. In the down time between feedback and the next round of revisions, I’m plotting my next book- Devil’s Advocate.  Another attempt at writing an actual Urban Fantasy. Lately, with the last two books,  both plots twisted into paranormal romance. We’ll see how the next book plots out.

How about having some fun? I recently crocheted a candy dot scarf for a friend. And I read Julia Rachel Barrett’s Incorporeal (excellent ghost story!).

But, I’m not even close to being done with The Undead Space Initiative. I still have to revise the first draft synopsis into something market ready.  So in the meantime, a tease.

The opening paragraphs of The Undead Space Initiative.

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Life sucks then you die. It’s a universal truth. But here’s what’s scarier. Even in death, life can still suck.

Case in point … wait for it…

 “Cherry! Get your skinny ass up on stage!” Jonathan barked through my dressing room door.  How do I describe him? Pain in my rump. Benefactor. Reason for my current situation. None of them seem adequate enough. His main occupation? Yelling at me to perform and to make him money. And he’s always interrupting. Never lets a girl even have a moment to think.

“I’m on my way. Geez Louise.” I flung open the door, narrowly missing Jonathan’s long Roman nose. The tops of his fangs peeked out from his full lips as he smiled at me. This was a game we liked to play. I would try to smack him with the door whenever possible.

Okay, it was a game I liked to play. I’ve never managed to nail him in the face. My vampire Sire is too damn fast.

Jonathan tsked and crooked his finger. A slow smile curled his lips. “Cherry, I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Of course you do. I’m you’re number one performer.” I flashed fang. My pearly whites are nowhere near as long as his, but they can still do the job. Due to feed soon, I tried not to stare at Jonathan’s jugular. I hated needing my Sire’s blood to stay strong and avoid overpowering hunger. The kind, if left untended long enough, made vamps go feral. I buried my nose in a bouquet of fragrant red roses, a gift from one of my many fans.

Jonathan smirked. Damn. I hated when he caught me eyeing him like a roast. Another game we liked to play – I pretended I didn’t need him. And he pretended not to notice. We both knew otherwise.

I needed him.

Crap on toast.