Who is Jmorgan and what does love got to do with it?

Writers don’t under normal circumstances like to talk about themselves. That’s why we write. We can show you who we are indirectly, without the messiness of a ‘What I did last summer’ report in front of the class. Sure, I know you’re thinking, authors talk about themselves all the time. ‘Heck, I’m sitting here reading your blog, and I definitely get the feeling you’ve spent the last four weeks talking about yourself.’ Yep, you got me. But, am I talking about myself, or about the books? Perhaps the answer is a little of both. That begs the question, who is J. Morgan? Really?

As the J. Morgan in question, I’d have to say even I don’t know who I am. The man I am at this moment isn’t the man from ten years ago. Last week even. I’m pretty sure the man a year from now wouldn’t recognize the guy sitting here typing. So what’s the point of this metaphysical discourse?

Glad you asked. The answer relates to the main subject of this blog. If you want to know who J. Morgan is, the answer is in my books. How can I, or anyone, write without instilling the essence of who they are in their work?

Okay, if that’s true then who am I? I write about Vampires, werewolves and zombies. That tells you I’m a fan of the spooky. My books are peppered with all things geek. So, I must be a geek who loves comics, Star Wars, and a list of things that would make a mini ComicCon in my spare bedroom. And, yes, that last bit is true. I write Romance, so I must be an incurable romantic at heart. Got me! I love a happy ending. Just from a cursory look at my books you have some of me. I also write comedies. That either means I’m a funny guy, or I spent two much time in front of SitComs during my formative years. Either way, I think you’d be right.

But, that’s just the surface. Who am I underneath the Star Wars tee shirt?

If we go back to the beginning, I am someone’s son. I was raised in a house where family came first. Even when we didn’t have much, I never once thought that I wasn’t loved. That love is the basis of what I am able to convey through my books.

What else? I am a husband. I must have some grasp of what love means, otherwise my wife would have shook her head and walked out of this castle of geekiness a very long time ago. I’ve said this before, but when you read one of my books, I can only base what you see on what I know — the love between Jenn and me.

The thing that fills me with the most love is that I’m a father. Being someone’s parent is a reversal of being someone’s child. Being a child shows you what unconditional love is all about. Because, quite frankly, if you thought about how big of a brat you were growing up, just the teenage years alone, you’d have to wonder to yourself how come you weren’t left in a deserted field somewhere. Being a parent takes that unconditional love to a whole new level. You might have been shown it, but the first sight of your child fills every fiber of your being with a love so strong that it keeps you up at night. It fills you with confidence. It feels you with doubt. It terrifies you. It gives you strength. It makes you better than you would be left to your own devices. You would die to protect the life, who has become the absolute center of your universe. Romantic love is great. All consuming at times, but it is nothing compared to the love you feel for your child.

So, J. Morgan is a geek with a full understanding of love? Oh, heck no! If you say you understand love, you’re deluding yourself. I can grasp the fundamentals of it, but not the totality of it. Who of us hasn’t wanted to stop the gnawing in our guts when love has us twisting on its yo-yo string? You can’t understand love. You can only bend to its will and pray it leaves you with enough sanity to nod at the appropriate times. Or, you can be like me and write books as therapy.

If my books are therapy, how can they show who I am? You know change the names to protect the innocent and all that. Well, again the answer is simple. I am an evolutionary being in flux reconciling who I was and who I am with the who I want to be. Huh? Don’t even try. I wrote it and I’m still scratching my head. But, I think that’s the same with all of us. When I write you see that bright eyed kid who saw the world an unfolding kingdom just within his fingertips. You see the man who accepted the fact the world might be too much, but what he got is pretty freaking awesome. You see the man who isn’t completely there yet, but uses his regrets about what he could have done and turns them into what he can still do. So, in the words of a truly great 80’s metal band…


You know I’m a dreamer
But my heart’s of gold
I had to run away high
So, I wouldn’t come home low

Just when things went right
Doesn’t mean they’re always wrong
Just take this song and you’ll never feel
Left all alone

Take me to your heart
Feel me in your bones
Just one more night
And I’m comin’ off this
Long and winding road

I’m on my way, I’m on my way
Home sweet home, tonight tonight
I’m on my way, I’m on my way
Home sweet home

You know that I’ve seen
Too many romantic dreams
Up in lights, fallin’ off
The silver screen

My heart’s like an open book
For the whole world to read
Sometime, nothing keeps me together
At the seams

Thanks, Motley Crue

for saying it all with a great back beat.

Interview with the Jmo: The Muse Strikes Back



Well, I’m still here!


You’d have thought someone would have heard a guy screaming his head off that he was handcuffed to a chair in a cheap motel. Between you and me, I get the idea they get that a lot in this joint. Oh, well, it’s not like I had anything better to do, and Jenn prob appreciated a night free of Clone Wars marathons. Least one of kidnappers could have done was put the TV on and left me the remote. Something to do to make the time pass, because counting cockroaches had gotten old about the second I started doing it. If the clock on the wall was right, whoever was supposed to show up to bust my whatevers should be here any minute. The sun would be up soon, and I’d be the surprise of some maid’s life. Then again, like I said, this place probably got stuff like this a lot.

My head began a sleep filled nod, when I heard the door open. Cracking my eyes open to a slit — because that was exactly what one of my characters would do — I saw a hulk of a man block out the light filtering in from the parking lot. Luckily for me, I recognized this hulk.

Jmo: Chase? What are you doing here? I barely even cracked a joke in Immortally Yours.

Chase: I am well aware of that fact, my friend. Your chronicling of Belle’s and my story was well crafted and a delight to read.

Jmo: Then, why are you here?

Chase: I come as an escort only. The Inspirations would have words with you. Because of our friendship, I came to insure that they dealt fairly with you. They can be quite vicious when they feel that one under their sway is acting against the contract that binds them to the Creative.

Jmo: My muse? My muse is hacked off at me?

Chase: It would appear to be so.

Crap on a biscuit! This was bad.

A flash of light filled the room cutting off the rest of my mental breakdown. When the radiance dropped back to a notch that didn’t blind me, I wished it had.

Jmo: Jenn?

Muse: Close, tiger, but no Oreo. Nope, it’s just me Princes Harley River Farrah Organa Bofinia Mofina Jofina something something. I forget the rest, but you get the idea. I’m the slave you force to help you write that pop culture driven drivel. Blech.

Jmo: Then, why do you look like my wife?

Princess Harley: Because, she’s your greatest inspiration, silly duck. Without her, you’d probably still be drawing comics in your grandparents’ spare room and playing with your Star Wars action figures til the wee hours of the morning. Instead, of just collecting the damn things and leaving them mint in box. You need help my friend. Serious help.

Jmo: Yeah, I get that a lot. It still doesn’t explain why you’re here. It’s not like I overwork you. You have the days off. I have the snacks you requested in our contract on hand. You even get three weeks vacation, plus the time you just disappear on me for no apparent reason.

Princess Harley: That isn’t the point, ducky. I can only be funny so much. We need to cut our teeth on something more substantial. Seriously, how many Star Wars derived in-jokes can you expect me to toss out there?

Jmo: Hey, we wrote Immortally Yours and Immortally Damned. They were both serious books. We just finished Scrolls of Eternity: Rebirth. That wasn’t that funny. We’re branching out of my comfort zone.

Princess Harley: True, but you’re slow about it. I got into this business to be listed as one of the muses of the greats. Faulkner, Steinbeck, Jackie Collins. Instead, I got you, Mr. Romance from the Funny Bone.

Jmo: That hurts. You’ve been there since book one. Comedy is hard! I know it doesn’t seem important to you, but what we write makes people smile. It makes them happy and for a short span it makes them forget their troubles. People need that every once in awhile. Life is hard. It’s a constant battle to pay bills, put food on the table and every once in awhile to treat yourself to something special. Nowadays, all those things are getting harder and harder to do. So, when a reader buys one of our books, they’re looking for just that escape. If you can’t appreciate that fact, maybe I need a new muse.

Princess Harley: Okay, okay. No reason to get all huffy about it. I didn’t say I wanted to quit.

Jmo: Then, what do you want?

Princess Harley: For one thing, I’m tired of changing bodies every book. Do your friends know how you steal them and plop them in your books? I could list them, but we’d be here all day.

Jmo: Yes, they know. I ask them first. I don’t steal them. I borrow them. Besides, for me to love my characters, I need to know them. My friends are the greatest part of my life. They inspire me on a daily basis. Without them, I truly doubt I could write a word.

Princess Harley: Then, what do you need me for?

Jmo: You make me better than I’d be otherwise. We’re a team. You help me make the books real. Make them come alive. I’m just the guy at the keyboard.

Princess Harley: Good answer.

Jmo: So, we’re good?

Princess Harley: For the time being. You just better make sure those Oreos keep rolling, or there’s going to be trouble.

Jmo: You got it.


Princess Harley: Good deal. Oh, before I go. I’ll be needing the entire month of June off. No, reason. I just don’t feel like working. If you got a problem with it take it up with my union rep, Jeni Sai Qua. I’m outta here. Chase, once I blinky winky, you can let him go.

And, she did.

Chase: I guess we’re done here. Best be getting back, too. Belle has big plans and hates it when I’m late. Jmo, try to keep them happy. Otherwise, Jeni Sai Qua will come herself, and believe me you don’t want that.

Jmo: I’ll try my best.

Chase: See that you do. Your car’s parked out front.

With that, he freed me and walked into nothingness. Alone with my thoughts, only one thing kept rolling around in my head. I really had to stop eating Double Stuf Bacon Oreos before I went to bed.

Thanks, for sticking around for the past three weeks while I was held hostage. You know you could have saved yourself a lot of reading if you’d just let me go! You must have liked it, otherwise, you wouldn’t have stuck around. Next week, I promise things will get back to normal. Then again, normal for this place, really isn’t that normal.

Have a great week, and happy reading,


Now, where did they put my car keys? Never trust a muse!


Interview with the Jmo- Part Deux


When last we left out intrepid author, he had been handcuffed to a chair in a roach infested, DNA splattered motel room. Fearing for his life, our brave Jmo did the only thing a studly specimen of manhood could do in his situation.



When that didn’t work, he curled into a fetal position and sucked his thumb. In the midst of doing a real fine job of that, the motel room’s door flew open, letting in a swirl of yellow taffeta.

Okay, this third person referencing myself has gotten old. I sucked my thumb and whimpered for my momma. Telling people I did it in the third person isn’t going to make it all go away. I did it. Giggle if you must, but let’s get over it. I’m still a hostage. An unfortunate one at that, because I recognize the owner of that yellow prom dress only too well.

Jmo: Madison?

Madison: The one and only, sugah. Now, does Madison Lee know how to make an entrance or what?

Jmo: Nice twirl, but what do you want from me?

Madison: Nothing really, but Nicholi said that Deme wanted a representative from the Maegunous to back him up on this turning our lives into sophomoric comedies. I have no idea what he’s talking about. In the Southern Werewolf Chronicles, you make me come off like the genteel Southern Deb that I am.

Jmo: So, you’re gonna let me go?

Madison: Not so fast, hot stuff. We still have a big problem we need to sort out.

Jmo: We do? Come on, Madison. Were Love Blooms was not only a LASR finalist for Best Book of 2010, but Joyfully Reviewed just named it as one of the best in Romance for 2012. That’s not too shabby.

Madison: Didn’t say it was.

Jmo: Then, what’s the problem?

Madison: Cliffhangers! I’m not going to spoil anyone’s read, but you’re awfully fond of them. Normally, I could care less, but this time, you messed with me. Vampires are too nice when it comes to crap like this. Civilized about it. Well, werewolves aren’t. This one ain’t for damn sure.

Jmo: I’m working on it. I promise.

Madison: Don’t lie to me. I’ve checked your laptop. You’re working on the next Bite Marks book. My readers want to find out what happens to me. They demand to know!

Jmo: I’m sorry, but the VCI have better lawyers than you do. It’s my contract that I have to have a book out a year chronicling their exploits. Not to point any fingers, but you missed four of our last six interviews. How do you expect me to write a book when I don’t know what to write?

Madison: That’s not my fault. I had New York fashion week to attend. Milan Fashion week to attend, then my nails were atrocious. You can’t have me showing my hands in public with werewolf nails. Not to mention, I had a waxing after the last full moon. You just don’t cancel those appointments. They’re set up months in advance. From the looks of that Duck Dynasty beard you’re sporting, you could use one yourself.

Jmo: My facial hair is a fashion statement, thank you very much.

Madison: It looks more like someone slapped a dead opossum on my face statement. I’m just saying, if you don’t get the drag out and write book three, I know people who will make you wish you did. Furry people. Furry people with fleas and large teeth and tails.

Jmo: Okay, as soon as I wrap up the second Bite Marks book, I promise to finish Were Love Finds You, but you’ve got to actually come to our meetings. I’m not only your underpaid therapist, but I’m the guy who has to write your books. unless, you just want me to start making things up?

Madison: Oh hell naw. I’ve seen your imagination. You’ll have me dying my pelt pink and acting like some freaky Wonder Woman rip off. The name of the series is The Southern Werewolf Chronicles, not Big Bang Wolf Theory. I will not become some Geek-a-Rama book. It’s bad enough you did that to the Vamps. I’ll see you this coming Friday. Have your tape recorder handy.

Jmo: Deal.

Madison: Now, I’ve got things to do. There’s a big sale at this little boutique just outside Paris. If I leave now, I can make it there before all the locals get the good stuff.

Jmo: What about untying me?

Madison: No can do boss. You’ve got one more visitor to deal with. If you’re lucky, you might see daylight before those roaches carry you off. If I were you, I’d do a heap of praying, because the next one isn’t as forgiving as me and Deme.

I opened my mouth to say something profound, but as we all know, I just ain’t a producer of profound. All I could do was mumble under my breath as she slipped through the door. Here I was two visitors down and no better off than when I work up in this roach motel. Her ominous words haunted me, but there wasn’t much I could do. calling for momma hadn’t worked. Sucking my thumb did help, but it wouldn’t get me out of these handcuffs.

So, while I sit here waiting on my next ghost of literary heck to come a’calling, please check out Joyfully Reviewed kind review for Were Love Blooms by clicking the cute icon before below. Then if you like what you see, click on the Desert Breeze banner to pick up the book that started it all Were Love Blooms.

Until next week, happy reading. And, somebody find out why my momma ain’t returning my screams for help.


Best of 2012

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Inteview with the Jmo



Welcome to the second blog from Giggles from the Darkside. What have I got for you today? Something slightly insane. I’m sitting in a dank dark motel room on the outskirts of… Heck, I don’t even know where I am. Last thing I remembered was taking candy from this woman standing in front of a white van. Crap! I knew I should have listened to my parents. Kids pay attention. Don’t talk to strangers! Ever!

With my public service message out of the way, I guess it would be prudent to get to the heart of this blog. Quite frankly, I’m a little nervous, and would like to get out of this joint before I ended up putting lotion on its skin. The guy with the sharp teeth is motioning for me to get on with this. Since, he’s the one who’s got me pink fluffy handcuffed to this chair, I better listen to him.

 Here with me, under duress–me, not him– is my guest Demetrious de Mecini, world leader and Vampire. Dressed superbly in  a pink and purple floweredy shirt and khaki shorts, he is the epitome of the quiet cool only James Dean, or Buddy Hackett, could pull off. So, let’s give him the appropriate response someone of his personage deserves. You know, before I become a midnight snack in a cheap No Tell Motel in the outskirts of… Where am I again? Oh, it doesn’t matter.

 Jmo: Demetrious, welcome to Giggles from the Darkside.

 Demetrious: Please call me Deme. All my friends do.

 Jmo: Uh, okay. Deme, I understand you wanted me to help you set certain facts straight.

 Deme: That is correct. When we enlisted you to chronicle our unfolding history, I did not realize that you would do so in such a comedic way. Some of my family are not as amused as I’m sure your readers are.

 Jmo: Hey, guy. You wanted humans to empathize with you. The only way that’s going to happen is if, I show you guys warts and all. You can’t ask someone to write about you, and not expect him to write the truth and whole truth. In fact, I believe I had that written into my contract.

 Deme: You did, which is why our lawyers aren’t conducting this inquisition.

 Jmo: Inquisition is such a harsh word. Couldn’t we say friendly chat.

 Deme: No.

Jmo: Then, inquisition it is! So, what would you like my readers to know?

Deme: First off, we are not buffoons for your entertainment.

Jmo: Dude, you kinda are. They wouldn’t be reading it, if they weren’t entertained.

Deme: I expected a dignified historical account. Not some sensualized expose of the purest tabloid kind. We are Vampires! Not some alien come to earth to anally probe New Age spouting celebrities.

Jmo: I understand that. If you look at the books, they don’t paint you buffoonish. You guys are the heroes. You’re fighting for all of us. I think that makes y’all pretty freaking awesome. The readers do to. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be going print. Not to mention the fact book seven will be coming out this year.

Deme: Print you say? I must have missed the email.

Jmo: Yeah, book three comes out later this month.

Deme: If I’m not mistaken that book is the one Dela and I act as the protagonists in.

Jmo: That’s right. You two rock the world, dude. Big time.

Deme: Then perhaps, we shall allow you to continue to chronicle our exploits. But, no more of this sensationalism for sensationalism’s sake. Record the facts as they are presented to you.

Jmo: You got it. If these handcuffs allowed me to, I’d cross my heart and everything.

Deme: That won’t be necessary. One other matter before I go, Donatello would appreciate it if you’d scale back the Star Wars references. He finds them disturbingly immature. Instead, he suggests you quote from the classics of cinema. Casablanca, The Ten Commandments, Joe Dirt.

Jmo: I’ll see what I can do.

Deme: See, that you attempt to do so. You would not like Donatello to come visit you for a conversation on the matter. On that note, I must be off. Things to do. Disney Land to see.

Jmo: Hey, what about me? I’m still handcuffed.

Deme: Oh, I nearly forgot. Think of this as your Christmas Carol. Someone else wishes to speak with you. She should be along shortly. Oh another thing that has slipped my mind. Do you happen to have the address for one Gail Delaney? Dela asked me to get her autograph. She is a huge Phoenix fan.

Jmo: Uh, I don’t think so.

Deme: Too bad.

Not believing this one bit, I sat there and watched him leave. Characters were so temperamental. I wondered what he meant by someone else wanted to talk to me. Not counting my wife, I couldn’t imagine who I’d peeved off enough to lock me in a cheap motel room.

Well, while I try to figure it out, feel free to check out all the Love Bites books now on the new and improved Desert Breeze Publishing website!



To be continued!

Will Jmo discover the identity of his next vistor?

Will he free himself from bondage?

Will he discovers he likes bondage?

Stay tuned,

as next week,

we’ll find out the answers to those questions and some we haven’t thought of yet.