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.
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.
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.