Dad’s are Muses? Who knew?

Dad’s are there to inspire.

Read that again. I want to make sure it sinks in good and deep. I’m not saying it to be funny or to give myself an elevated position as a dad myself. I am simply stating a simple and undeniable fact. Before anyone tries to dispute me, give me a chance to make my case. Even by not being there, a father inspires his children by his actions. Whether death has ripped him from their lives or he’s just an asshat who has no business being anyone’s father, he has inspired his children to become the adults they will eventually grow into being. That’s for good and bad, people. So any guys out there, pay close attention to what I typed. If you believe you’re a better influence by not being in your children’s life, you just taught them that men have no other responsibility than being a piece-of-crap sperm donor.

Okay, my soapbox is done, because that isn’t what this blog is about. I just happened to hit a sour note and felt like saying something that so obviously needed to be said — even though it should NEVER HAVE TO BE said. Sadly for our society, it does.

If that isn’t what this blog is about, what is?

It’s about my dad, the greatest man I know. When I say a dad is there to inspire, I speak from experience. My dad gave his four sons and now his daughter the inspiration of being a role model each of us have aspired to become to our children and now for some of us our grandchildren. The first and foremost thing he taught us is that loving your kids supersedes everything else short of loving God in your life. It’s that love that defines every single memory I have of my father. I include those from today. My dad loves me, and it is the one thing I’ve never felt the need to question.  His every action reflects his love for all his children and grandchildren. Out of all the things I’ve learned by osmosis from being in his shadow, loving my family, and extended family is the greatest thing I’ve taken from him. Sometimes, that love isn’t easy.  Sometimes it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but it’s always the greatest thing I’ll ever do.

My dad taught me that anything worth having is worth working to hold. This ranges from earthly things to education. You name it. You have to work to get it. As a kid I saw my dad leave before daylight only to drag in way after the sun came down to put a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs. He’d do this seven days a week for months at a time. One of my earliest memories is coming downstairs and sitting in his lap so we could watch Bugs Bunny together on one rare Saturday he was off. That taught me that memories are big extravagant things. They’re moments captured in time, and it’s up to us to hold them inside us for all time.

Like I said to start this, dads are there to inspire us. He should be our first hero. Before Superman, Batman, or Luke Skywalker, our dads should be the standard all those other guys must strive to be. My Dad might not be able to leap a building in a single bound, but growing up I sure thought he could. That’s how it should be. I wish all kids had a dad like mine.

Maybe not exactly like mine, but the perfect dad for them. My dad taught me more than how to work for what I want, and how to pray to God for those things working won’t get. That’s a dad’s job. All kids are born with the best and worst of two parents. I’m sure I have a lot of his habits that irritate me. It’s  probably why they irritate me. But, I also have the best parts of him. The parts he showed me while sitting on his lap, or working beside me on my old PoS car. Over the years my dad gradually became my best friend. The man I turn to for all the answers, even when he doesn’t have them. Again, that’s how it should be. I pray my daughter sees enough of him inside me to have learned some of the lessons I imparted without meaning to. Some of those influences aren’t that great, but thankfully some are. When I see her with my grandson, I know she learned the valuable ones. The same ones I learned from my dad. Love your kids totally and with every fiber of your being, even when they are behaving like shits.

Just to tie all this into writing and literature, which as a writer I think I should do at some point. When I look back on my childhood, I always see me and Dad reading together. He, more than anyone, gave me a love for reading that encompassed everything from the Old West to the pulp heroes like Conan, and John Carter of Mars to books about World War II. I even remember him writing on his own book, so writing isn’t just something that popped up out of nowhere. It comes to me naturally.

On this Father’s Day, I want to thank my dad for making me not only the man I am today but the person I am still becoming. I want to thank him for the butt whuppings I deserved, and those he slipped in just because. Believe me, I deserved more than I got. I want to thank him for the shootouts at the Old West corrals and for the stars I flew to in my mind. While I’m there, for the wild jungles and swinging through the trees. Most of all, I want to thank him for the love he never stops showing and for teaching me that showing love doesn’t make you less of a man. It makes you a man worthy to be called a Dad.


Til next week, Happy Father’s Day to all you dads. Be an inspiration to not only your children but to all the kids who see you as an example of what a man should be.

Happy Reading!

Writers, Go Figure…

So you wanna be a writer?

I think this is a question every would-be author should be asked before they jump into the ocean with the rest of us would-be authors, are authors, and best-selling authors. Why? Well, not to be mean for one thing, but to save some hurt feelings and manic depression if you really want to get down to it. Let’s sit back, well you sit back, and I’ll try to explain what I mean. Seeing as how this IS my blog you had to see that coming. You did stop by to read what I have to say after all. If you stopped by as an accidental Goggle search please free to continue on your way.

No hard feelings but understand you will be discussed in my next therapy session and by therapy session I mean when I talk to the guy in the parking lot of McDonald’s cleaning my windshield while I wait for my McGriddle. Like I can afford therapy. I’m an author. I can’t even afford a McGriddle.

Now, back to this Blog business.

Being a writer is totally different from being an author. An author gets paid. A writer writes because they need to write like they need to breathe. Now, before I hear an outcry of shock and rage, let me elaborate. Writing is something a person does instinctively. The need to express themselves is so overwhelming they write on anything — napkins, notebooks, their palms, literally anything in the rush to get the things out of their head and out into the world. It’s only as time goes by that this need evolves into the idea that somehow they can make money from doing something they love. Let me stop here and say this thought is great and all, but let’s be honest with ourselves. Making money is not as easy as it sounds and should never be the sole reason for doing something. When it is, you’re doomed either to failure or to becoming a heartless robot. Do it because you love it and let monetary gain be secondary in your reasoning.

Even once the concept of making money enters the picture you’re still just a writer. Writing needs a lot of things attached to it before Author enters the picture and a lot more things have to happen before Best-Selling Author is attached to your name. Luck for one thing. Don’t think I’m jaded or being negative about the process. I’m not. Luck is the fundamental element in any success whether it be in writing, or music or art. Why? Because talent and skill does not always equate to success. Most of the artists you know by name, Rembrandt and Van Gogh just to name two rarely made money from painting. They died poor and let’s face it more than a little crazy. Even fame isn’t monetary success. If fame and fortune are your sole reasons for writing, I feel sorry for you. That in no way means you won’t be famous one day. It just means I think you’ll be missing the emotional thrill of doing something that completes you on levels money and fame can’t begin to do. So the first thing you need to ask yourself is why are you doing this? Depending on the stability of your psyche in relation to your answer please continue on your chosen path.

So what does it take to become an author? I’m really not sure if I can answer that question. There are just too many variables in play to answer it. Again, I’m going with luck. Why? Surely, hard work and talent will get you where you’re going in your chosen profession. You’d think that, but I know way too many amazing writers who bowed out, not because of lack of talent, but because of lack of opportunity to get noticed. I’m not saying to fold up your laptop and quit before you even get started. Just do what you do because you love it and not for the reason of getting rich. I got sidetracked by gauging my success on sales and not readers reached. Trust me it’s not a backroad you want to go down.

Write because you love to write. Success is based on individual lives touched and not how often your checkbook is touched. The true value of being an Author is that. Over the past 10 years I have become richer not in cash earned but in lives earned. I’ve gained friends by meeting fellow writers and learning my craft from their influence, them picking me up, my failures, and from editors beating knowledge through my thick skull. I’ve become enriched by meeting fellow readers who have become family to my heart. They have guided me in both my writing and my personal life. Lastly, I have become a better man from succeeding in failing. Yeah, from failing. Because when you realize you’re not God’s gift to the world, you see the world as God’s gift to you. That world consists of His gifts to us, our talents, our family, and our friends. I, and a lot of my fellow authors, use those skills to bring joy to our friends and in the process we make more friends and for some blessed few we become family.

So, here’s to my fellow aspiring writers. May we one day become authors and call the world our family. Until then, let’s write like there’s no tomorrow, and read like the world is make believe. Me? I’ve been living in Middle Earth for so long, I have no clue what the real world even looks like.

Until next time, Happy Reading! And watch out for Orcs.


Were Love Ends, or Does it?

This is the end.


Or, should I say this is The Happily Ever After?


Both are probably true. Were Love Finds You is the last in my Southern Werewolf Chronicles. Way back when, I wanted to tell a love story in three parts. I honestly didn’t see the story going much further because nobody wants to know about the everyday life that comes after an author gives you the mythical ‘And, they lived happily ever after’.


Were Three is the sum of all its parts, those parts being the first two Southern Werewolf Chronicles. Again, if I travel back to when Were Love Blooms started, I didn’t have my Love Bites series. I didn’t see the interconnected world that would exist between my werewolves and vampires. I didn’t grasp that both would exist in a greater world where mythology was reality, a reality born of watching one too many episodes of Ancient Aliens and way too much History Channel in general. So, by the time Were the Moon Don’t Shine came about, these two series were too closely linked for one not to affect the other.


I knew before going into this book I had three different agendas to deal with.


First and foremost, I had to resolve the cliffhanger I left hanging at the end of Moon Shines. I sort of like that,– moonshines. Snicker. Back to where I was. Naomi had to come out of Madison’s head. We in the south embrace our crazy, but we don’t encourage it to take total control. Okay, maybe we do, but we don’t want the rest of the world knowing that.


Secondly, I needed to bring together some elements I’d inadvertently introduced in Bite the Neck that Loves You, or Bite Marks Two, in Were Three so the whole thing would start making sense. I’d like to apologize yet again, but due to writer’s block on Were Love Finds You, Bite Marks Two came out first, so the whole thing became out of sequence. So, Madison and the rest of the gang had become drawn into the growing Vampire War with the Fallen. My misstep gave me the perfect plot element I needed to drive the story of Madison’s return, or not return, and bring Southern Were to a satisfying close. No spoilers here folks. You’ll have to read the book to find out all the juicy details.


What? I forgot something? Oh yeah. The third thing. I needed to get Madison hitched. That might be a spoiler, but hey, there’s a preacher on the cover, so you had to see matrimony coming. The point is, their story was coming to not an end but an imagination laden beginning left up to the readers to fill in once I typed ‘The End’ and shipped it off to my editor.



For now, my visit into Madison’s life is over. Did I accomplish what I set out to do when I started Were Love Blooms? Let’s see. I told a story I consider well written. The characters felt real and alive to me. When I typed the last sentences of Were Love Finds You, I felt satisfied, but sad too. Sad, because it had come to an end. For happy or sad, the story had played itself out to its natural conclusion. An author couldn’t hope for anything less. But…


Does a story ever truly ever end in an author’s head? I have basically lived with Madison talking to me for seven years. Most marriages don’t last that long. I was working on a blog for another site Friday and sure enough, Madison spoke to me. Whispering a tidbit from her new life. I have to say, I was most intrigued by the things she tickled in my ear. So, maybe the Southern Werewolf Chronicles are over, but that isn’t to say Madison’s story is. Who knows? As age and experience work on me, and time allows, she may get another book, or three. Life is like that. Just when you think you know what’s going to happen, a twist sends you in another more interesting direction.


For now, I invite you to either try Southern Werewolf for the first time, or take the last ride on Madison’s crazy train, if you’ve already tried the series. Either way, I hope you have as much fun reading these books as I had writing them.


Were 3 final


The Southern Werewolf Chronicles

Book Three

Were Love Finds You

By J. Morgan


Desert Breeze Publishing


Y’all are cordially invited to the wedding of the century.

Madison Lee has been through the ringer over the past year. She discovered she’s a werewolf. Family she never knew existed landed on her doorstep. Her fiancé, Nicholi, has been kidnapped.

If she can survive a sudden outbreak of spilt-personality, Vampires dying to kill her, and assorted hired killers and long lost relatives showing up uninvited, oh, and an old girlfriend of Nicholi’s who may or may not be trying to steal her man, her life might just work out.

Whoever said being a Southern Deb lied. Being one, just makes it easier to deal with the crap her life had become. With her head held high, Madison is bound and determined to plan the perfect wedding. She dares anyone to come between her and the I dos she’s waited her whole life to hear.


Jerking free of Beulah’s grip on me, I twisted my body and leapt on the table. Platters of eggs, bacon, and something my nose informed me was molasses went flying into the air, as my feet touched down. The stick thingies attached to the soles of my shoes cracked off and went rocketing toward the wall behind me. Good riddance. My ankles were killing me, and I was better off without them. Plus, since I was without my fangs and claws, the splintered ends would make excellent weapons.

“Madison!” I ignored Nicholi’s howl. He could expect me to get back to him as soon as I wrapped up this slab of skank.

Letting out a growl from deep inside my throat, I attempted to drown out the voices screeching behind me. Mentally, I added them to the list. They allowed her in, too. The growl died in my throat, as I heard Madison snickering from her prison. Her snide asides I would not take.

“I think she’s lost it.” I swung my head around to see Jessica calmly eating a slice of bacon.

“Shut up, Jess.” Nicholi pushed her away from the table. “Can’t you see she has…” He pursed his lips. “Uh, well, lost it.”

Et tu, Nicholi?

Again, ignoring them. My full attention had focused on the female in front of me. How dare she sit there with her perfect creamy mocha skin, toned physique and a face Halle Berry would slit a throat to have. Worse than that. She was throwing off enough pheromones to seduce a football team. I bet she would have liked it, too. Taking advantage of my poor Saints and my mate. Baring my teeth, I let her know how I felt about all her perfectness sitting at my kitchen table.

“Yes?” Wiping a napkin in the corner of my mouth, she had the nerve to smile at me.

“This is my house!” I snarled.

“I believe it is.” She calmly set her napkin on the table.

I jabbed a finger toward Nicholi. “That is mine, also. Not yours. Mine!”

“I think your brother explained your relationship to the European Paxus to me as well.” The wench plucked a piece of bacon from her plate and daintily took a nibble from it. “Is there anything else you would like to mark as yours before we introduce ourselves?”

I scrunched up my face, and tried to think of something. “Everything else is mine too.” There I believe I covered it all nicely.

“Good.” She clapped her hands, sending bacon raining into the air. “Now, that we have that settled, my name is Hildie Kingston. I’m the bitch your brother sent to protect your psychotic ass.”

“I’m Madison.” I resisted the urge to flick my ear with my big toe and scurry away. Something told me I had not acted in an altogether Human manner.

“Yep, I got it.” Hildie, if that was her real name, scowled at the fragment of bacon left in her hand. Shrugging, she glanced to Father. “Could you explain to me again who I’m suppose to be protecting? Her or the rest of the world from her?”


Available now


Desert Breeze Publishing






You can also find it and all my books from any of the online bookstores you frequent. Til next week, have a great one and happy reading!


No Blog but I brought a painting

This weekend I just had no words in me. I had several, but nothing note worthy enough to slap on the Darkside. What can I say? My other muse took over. No, not the napping one. Okay, the napping one, but my other muse had some say in my weekend. I’ve been working on a painting for my wife for the past couple of weekends. She wanted a portrait of our two puppies. Someone was nice enough to give me a canvas, so I thought, why not? Her giving me the stink eyes of death helped make up my mind too.

So if you came here expecting words, I’m sorry, but I hope a view into my other creative outlet will hold you over until next week. It’s still a work in progress. Hope that doesn’t kill the illusion that Bob Ross put in everyone’s heads that paintings can be done in a PBS hour or less. And, no happy trees. Again, sorry.

paco and max painting

Wishing everyone a Happy Week and of course, Happy Reading!

Were Love Continues: A Southern Werewolf Blog

Love ain’t easy!

No truer words were ever spoken. If that’s the case why do we rush out like fools in search of it? Why do we watch endless hours of tv and movies about it? Why do we read books exalting it as the end all be all of existence? I mean really. Usually, we would back off of something that caused that much grief. People quit jobs every day that are nowhere as hard as love can be. If you think about it, I think you know the answer.

Love is worth it!

In previous blogs, I’ve said that Romance novels at times fail to paint an accurate picture of what love is all about. I know as an author I don’t. None of my books even come close. Hey, I have Vampires, Werewolves and you name it as characters. I don’t strive for reality. I strive to present an honest presentation of what love means. Besides, who wants to read about the mundane miseries love can cause? I don’t. But, when the idea for the Southern Werewolf Chronicles popped into my head, I wanted to show something close enough to the truth that wasn’t all depressing about the subject, because I think we all get the idea from our daily lives. Love ain’t easy.

No, I wanted to get to the heart of the matter. Once you find love, what would you do to keep it? You know, without being all stalkerish about it. I mean a mutual expression of love between two people. Let’s hypothesize that you have found the love of your life. Through a few dates, you both see no other person can fill the void your lives have been up to that point. The ‘I love yous’ have been said and meant. You’ve met their family, and they’ve met yours. Well, most of them because everyone has a crazy uncle or aunt nobody wants to parade out for public consumption. The date may be set and all that. Life being what it is, things rarely run smoothly. Crap happens. It’s another one of those true things that you hear about all the time.

That said, how far would you go to keep love in your life?

I wanted that question to be the basis for the second book in The Southern Werewolf Chronicles. How far would you go? To the ends of the earth? Across the street? What would you do to save the person you loved most in the world? I wanted Madison to face that question head on and act on it. I think it’s a question everyone should consider before laying down the til death do us part.

Since, I’m not exactly writing about normal everyday folks, I couldn’t go all everyday about it. In retrospect, Were The Moon Don’t Shine, is my homage to the soap operas my mom sat and watched when I was a kid. You had your tall dark hero, Nicholi. The home town girl that everyone loves and wants to be, Madison. The mysterious woman who claims to be said hero’s sister, Jessica. She’s also the one the audience would love to hate if this was indeed a soap opera. I even have a soap opera worthy plot. Our manly hero disappears without a trace. That means our heroine and this new femme fatale must team up to go in search of him. There’s even a subplot racing through the book. Madison has to plan a wedding without a groom around. She doesn’t even know if her groom of choice is still alive! Like something so trivial would stop a true Southern Deb.

Again with this series, I continue my love affair with the world I grew up in. Soap operas were a big part of my formative years. The world came to a complete stop between the hours of ‘Young and the Restless’ and ‘Edge of Night’. This was way before DVR, so there was some major channel flipping going on depending on how evil Ericka Kane was getting on ‘All My Children’. The point I guess I’m trying to get at is I grew up surrounded by hopeless romantics. The women in my life weren’t only strong and more than able to take care of themselves, but they knew the value of love. Through osmosis, they passed those things down to me.

The Southern Werewolf Chronicles isn’t just a homage to the South. It’s a three book thank you note to my mom, my grandmothers, my aunts, and of course my wife. Without the influence of these women, I would not be the man I am today. So, as you delve between the pages of these books, you’ll see not only the things I love but the women I love. Madison isn’t just my wife. She’s the sum total of all the women who have been a big part of my life.

Before I sign off this week, I want to send a big thank you to my Momma, Nana, Maw Maw Brown, Aunt Evelyn, Aunt Doris, Aunt Peggy, Aunt Judy, Aunt Lou, Aunt Dot, and so many more that I know I’m forgetting. You are the women I always picture in my head when I think of strong Southern Belles. You are the women who helped me give birth to Madison. More importantly, you are the women who loved me and taught me the meaning of the word.

To those of you who are no longer here with us, you are forever a part of my heart and now immortal in my favorite creation, Madison Eugenia Lee.


The Southern Werewolf Chronicles

Book Two

Were the Moon Don’t Shine

By J. Morgan

Available From

Desert Breeze Publishing

Also Available



in Ebook

And Print


Madison Lee thought she had finally gotten the fairy tale ending she’s always wanted. That was book one.

Now, Nicholi, her Prince Werewolf Charming, has been kidnapped, and her perfect wedding is slowly slipping through her fingers. With her mate missing and his irritating sister, Jessica, under foot, there’s only one thing to do. Find his furry butt and make the snotwads responsible pay. Southern Debs, even furry ones, don’t get mad. They get even!

With her brother Jonas and Jessica along for the ride, she’s off to Milan to get her man back. Who cares that said rescue mission also coincides with Bridal Fashion week? As a woman of refined sensibilities, Madison is no stranger to multitasking. Locating the perfect wedding gown and her groom — no brainer.

Coming out of this mess alive? Now, that’s going to be the hard part.

Were it All Began: A Southern Werewolf Blog

It all started with a line. I know that is stating the obvious, but it’s true. Back in 2007, I’d just begun my writing career in earnest. My first book had been published and my second was due out in April, so I thought I knew what I was doing. Back then, I was big on first lines. First lines were gateways to adventures. Still are, but that’s beside the point.


Where was I? Oh, yeah. So anyway, I had two books started already. One would go on to be Mis-Staked, published by Champagne Books, and the other was only a chapter or two of a book titled Immortally Yours, now, published by Desert Breeze publishing. I mean with two books more or less kicking my butt, why would I even entertain thoughts of starting a third, not to mention I had edits coming on the book coming out in April. Yep, I’m a glutton for punishment. Least I was in those days. I’ve learned my lesson on multiple books at the same time, tyvm.


But, this line was so intoxicating, I couldn’t let it go. I mean, it floored me with all the possibilities that went along with it. I knew right away it was going to be a paranormal romance. As I stared at the line, I saw a Southern Belle uttering the line. In fact, it was my wife’s voice echoing in my head.


“Not to sound totally insane, but how much wax does it take to do a bikini line when you’re a freaking werewolf?”


Not to say she’s hairy or a werewolf, but it was so a thing she would say. I had my heroine, but how did she become a werewolf? I’ve lived in the south my whole life and werewolves weren’t exactly common place. Goth kids in vampire makeup you could see everywhere. Tripped over them at the mall, Walmart. You name it. Werewolves? Not so much.


Then it hit me. What if lycanthropy was a sexually transmitted disease? That insane thought gave me the how. My heroine, who I named Madison, was rich and had gone on a vacation to Europe. She somehow got lost and ended up in Transylvania. Still, with me? Good, I know I’m hitting you with a lot of back story, but the biggest part of writing is getting to know your story and characters. I sat in my recliner living this back story in my head for a few minutes and fell in love with Mads. She is my wife so it was kind of easy.


Lost in Transylvania demanded a tall dark mysterious man. And, Nicholi Grant was born, or created rather. Madison, being who she had gradually become in my head, would have no problem having zee roll in zee hay with a tall dark mysterious stranger with the devilish good looks of Gerry Butler. My good friend Paisley Kirkpatrick made me say that, but it’s true. Nicholi does sort of remind me of him.


I had my first line, a Southern Belle and a mysterious one night stand who apparently turned out to be a werewolf. Sounded like I had a book on my hands. Nope, but I was close. I still needed a plot, a story to toss them into and shake like some fish in cornmeal and Tony’s. If you’re from the South, you’ll get that analogy. If not, I’m sorry.


This put me to thinking. Okay, it put me to watching a Buffy marathon on TNT. Then it hit me! Rather, my wife did and told me to stop mumbling to myself, Angel was on. Back to the Eureka. I needed monster hunters! But not as the main plot, a subplot building to the conclusion of the overall story. Still, what was Mads’ and Nicholi’s story?


There was so much to choose from. How did she become a werewolf? Will she forgive Nicholi for giving her a paranormal STD? Why did Nicholi show up after so long? It had been a year since their one night stand. These questions led me to wondering about Madison’s life in general. They were well off, but what if the family business was in trouble? Now, I had something to work with!


Namely, a multilayered story about a woman who’s a werewolf and meets the one night stand who turned her into a werewolf and just so happens to be trying to buy her family business, while a group of monster hunters are trying to kill them all.


Whew, try typing that three times fast!


Summing up the epic in those words doesn’t really sum it up either. The one line that would go on to become, Were Love Blooms is the story of a romance born in Europe but fully realized in the heart of Dixie. It is also about everything I grew up being surrounded by. A book about family. A book about a small town. A book incorporating the world I know and the world living inside my head.


As I look back on the seven years since I jotted down that mind numbing line, a lot has changed. It took me three years to finally finish Were Love Blooms. Thanks to Gail Delaney, I let Madison’s story play out. She read the beginning and said that I had to finish this book. I did and Desert Breeze ultimately published it. My wife and I have survived 16 yrs of being married and are stronger for the bad times, and happier because of the good times. I’ve seen three publishers go under, and found a home with Desert Breeze. I’ve seen over 20 books published and discovered a bigger world inside my head than I thought lived there. I’ve become a grandfather. I’ve seen the world grow bigger and smaller at the same time thanks to the internet. Lastly, I’ve been able to share my imagination with others for over 7 years and met readers and authors who have become friends and family to me. In short, life has been and is good. I am truly blessed.


Were Love Blooms and the entire Southern Werewolf Chronicles aren’t just the story of two people in love. It’s the story of me growing in my craft and in the process becoming friends with the world. To those of you who have read the Southern Werewolf Chronicles, thank you for spending both your money and time for a glimpse inside my head. To those of you who haven’t, I invite you to come and read for a spell. I might be biased, but I think the price of admission is well world the ride.


 were love bloomsfrom

Desert Breeze Publishing


Available from



other online booksellers


Wishing you a good week, and of course, happy reading!

Labels, Love, and Werewolves, Oh My

I hate labels. Absolutely hate them. Yet, as a Romance author, I’ve found we get locked into genre labels. The heart of Romance is that you shouldn’t be able to label it as this and that. The core essence of any romance novel is the relationship of two people finding each other. Sure, I know labels help readers find the books they love to read, but it also narrows the view readers can have about certain books.

Hey, I’m as guilty as the next person when it comes to what I read. I tend to skip over certain genres because they just don’t appeal to me. In doing so, I’m cheating myself of what could be some amazing reads. It all boils down to the fact, that we DO judge books by their covers. I will say this, since becoming an author and interacting with my peers, I’m more open to those genres that once held no interest to me. So, I guess you could say I’m judging a book by the author. Not sure if it’s any better than what I did before, but I’ve become more open minded in my reading choices.

All that said, what do I write? It would be so easy to say I write Paranormal Romances with a comedic bent. It would be the truth, but it would only be part of the truth. The whole truth is I write books about relationships. Okay, there’s some funny and a lot of adventure in my books. Whether dressed up with fangs or fur, my stories revolve around two people not looking for love but finding it nonetheless. Love is perhaps the hardest thing to discover, let alone keep a hold on once you get it. Love is the miracle of miracles.

Sometimes, Romance Novels just give you the hot and heavy portion of the story of love. You get the initial rush of two people meeting and the passion that attraction puts them through. Rarely, do you get the long trip it takes from love at first sight to I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Okay, you do but it’s like I said the rush, an abbreviated synopsis of how love really works. Let me say this, love is work. Hard work that takes both parties involved to make love succeed.

Love is passion. It’s caring. It’s frustrating sometimes, but worth the headaches, heartaches and moments that you ask yourself why am I going through this. The answer to that question is so simple most people miss it. Love is knowing that your life without that other person is a painful shadow of how life should be. You’d be half of who you should be. Opposites attach for a reason. It takes someone unlike you to fill the void of all the parts of you that you can never be. Two people just alike would be boring. In my own life, I can tell you this. It takes someone to kill the spiders of this world and it takes someone standing on a chair yelling ‘kill it, kill it’. Two people yelling ‘kill it’ would be a sad thing to see. See, like I said, love is all about total completion.

In 2007, I decided I wanted to tell the story of just that. I wanted to show two people who fall in love in that rush, but I wanted to tell it all the way through. From the heat of their first meeting to will you marry me and follow through to the big day where the ‘I do’s’ are said. Such was born The Southern Werewolf Chronicles. Remember I said I dress things up, this time the story is told fur covered. Why Southern? Because that’s where I’m from, and I try to write what I know. Why werewolves? Because, I’m hairy and werewolves have always appealed to me. My wife on the other hand isn’t hairy. She really wanted me to make that point clear. Why? Because, for me to write what I know, I turned to the greatest love story I know. My own.

Honestly, before my wife, I had no idea what true love was all about. I had vague notions, but nothing concrete. I’d been reading Romance Novels since I was sixteen, so I thought true love was either about Scottish Highlanders or Sheiks sweeping women off their feet. Being born and bred in the south, I doubted the call for kilts or flowing robes would win me a woman’s heart. Get me thrown in a padded room with a pile of restraining orders — yes. See, I needed help. My wife was patient and married me in spite of my weird views on romance and a room full of geeky baggage. Really, there is a room of geeky baggage. I call it my man cave. Jenn calls it my Geek Cave.

So to tell the heart of our story, I didn’t go for the realistic story of how we met and eventually fell in love. As great as it was, I had to go plaster a fur coat on it and instead took the essence of who we are inside, and ran with the story. The funny thing is I’m not sure who is who when I finally finished the series. After sixteen plus years of marriage, we’ve kind of grown together into one person. She’s adapted some of my habits, and I’ve assumed some of hers. But, isn’t that the truth of love. When it’s true and lasting, two people cease to exist and they become one. They become so in sync with each other, they can’t function without the other. It is my hope as readers experience my tale of true love that is the three parts of The Southern Werewolf Chronicles, some of my theory comes across.

In Were Love Blooms, two people meet. Were the Moon Don’t Shine, two people fight impossible odds to stay together. Finally, in Were Love Finds You, those same two people prove that love is worth fighting for and is the ultimate expression of two little words that means forever if you have the right person to share it with.

So, back to labels, before you slap a label on a book because of the cover or title, read a little bit under that cover. You might discover that the story of true romance isn’t defined by genres but by the heart of love you find in its pages.

To celebrate the end of my Southern Werewolves, over the next few weeks, I’m going to give some DVD type extras. I think one of the most asked questions any author faces is where do you get your ideas. So, I’m going to tell you. Well, tell you without giving too much away. Half the fun of writing these books, any book, is where the ideas really do come from. Just in case, you haven’t read the first two books, here is the link to my Desert Breeze Publishing Author Page. You can find them and my other books there or at any online bookseller of your choice.

Were 3 final

Thanks for listening to my ramble and have a great week!

Ever have one of those weeks?

Of course you have, otherwise you’d be an alien having one of those wezfibitzs. Whatever that is. But, as a result of having one of those weeks, I am totally brain dead, though I am not discounting alien abduction, but that’s a totally different blog entirely. So unfortunately, I have nothing for you this week. I hate wasting your time. Maybe, I can make amends by sharing a snippet from my latest release. Oh by the way, I forgot entirely that it came out earlier this month. How’s that for one of those weeks, or months, if I want to be perfectly honest with you.

So, here’s a tid bit from my first Young Adult novel, ‘Scrolls of Eternity: Rebirth’. Next week, I promise something cool, like an interview with my muse for this book. The real Patrick Michael Hughes himself. Well, you know unless he’s off saving the world or something.


Scrolls of Eternity

Book One


By J. Morgan


Desert Breeze Publishing


Patrick Hughes’ idea of field trips didn’t include armed robbers and Egyptian gods, but that’s just what he got. Accidently assuming the mantle of Horus, the Egyptian God of War, he is about to take Superhero 101 for extra credit. With the help of his substitute history teacher, who just so happens to be Anubis God of the Dead, Patrick takes a crash course in what it takes to be a hero. Too bad time is running out. Sutekh the God of Chaos has his eye on taking over the world. Unless he gets the hang of being a superhero and quick, getting an F will be the least of Patrick’s worries. Will Patrick’s first test at being a superhero be his last, or will he become the hero he was born to be?


“Uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about?” He might not have been able to manage the running away, but the girlish squeak had come through loud and clear.

“Oh, please, let us not play these games.” Ubis leaned forward. “Do you think I came here simply through the auspices of serendipity? No, Hemsut placed us together.”

“Sorry, Mr. Ubis, but I have no idea what you’re hinting at, but I assure you that you’re barking up the wrong tree.” Patrick winced under the man’s gaze, as sweat pooled between his shoulder blades.

Mr. Ubis surprised him by laughing. “Barking up the wrong tree. How droll of you. Perhaps Hesmut has a grander sense of humor than I supposed.”

“Sir, I’m not trying to offend you or anything, but are you on crack?” Under normal circumstances, he might have been afraid to say something like that to a teacher, but as awkweird as this was, somebody needed to say it.

“No, but I can understand why you would think so. Your world has had much upheaval in these past few days. My peculiar grasp of your situation would only come as another shock to your system.” He placed his chin in the crook of his thumb. “As damaging as this might be to your already fragile psyche, the only way you will believe my intentions are, as they say, on the up and up, is to show you a harsh truth.”

That didn’t sound one bit of good to Patrick. Mr. Ubis was doing more than scaring him. He was freaking him the heck out! If this hadn’t been a school type setting, he might have been really worried. This probably had an innocent explanation, but danged if he could figure it out. Teachers never usually acted this screwed up in Patrick’s experience, not counting Mrs. Jackson’s breakdown when he and Galen caused a minor mustard gas scare during Chemistry last semester. He would have thought something like that usually waited until toward the end of school, and not on a teacher’s first day on the job. That’s why he found himself confused as all get out.

“Mr. Ubis, I’m not sure exactly what’s going on here, but maybe we should both go down to see the nice therapists.” He felt that was the nicest way possible he could insinuate that Mr. Ubis might be a Twinkie short of a twin pack without risking actually coming out and saying it.

“No, Mr. Hughes, that wouldn’t be prudent. I seriously doubt either one of us wishes them to learn we both harbor secrets that could endanger not only you but those you love.” Ubis crooked a finger into the air. “Before you attempt to run from the room, humor me for a few moments longer, then you may do as you see fit.”

Patrick nodded, because quite frankly he didn’t know what else to do.

An impossibly wide grin slashed the teacher’s face. Impossibly wide and it didn’t stop at his rosy cheeks either. The Joker lips split his face clear to his ears that had somehow gone all pointy and jacked up a good six inches above his receding hairline. Patrick blinked. It was either that or start drooling. No, Patrick decided blabbering might have been the better way to go. The transformation didn’t stop there. Mr. Ubis had become a dog! A big black one with glowing yellow eyes and skin so black it was like looking into the heart of a black hole.

Not that having his teacher turn into a doberman pincher from the neck up wasn’t weird enough on all its own, but a name popped into Patrick’s head. “Anubis?”

“Very good, Mr. Hughes, and I thought this would be more difficult.” Just as suddenly, Mr. Ubis’ head was back in human working order. “See, no lasting damage, and we avoided any further difficulties ascertaining my — or your — sanity. All in all, I think this is a positive step in the proper direction.”

“I still don’t understand.” He was shaking all over, not from fear, but true excitement. Finally, here were the answers that he’d been looking for. Sure, seeing him morph into Zeppo the Dog Faced Man had been freaky as all get out. It would have anyone. If his need to discover exactly what was going on hadn’t been stronger than his fear of awkweird, he wouldn’t have stayed in his seat.

“That is why I’m here. The winds of chaos are nearly upon us. Without you as its champion, this world will not survive the machinations of Sutekh.” Anubis narrowed his eyes, bringing his arched brows down into a bunched knot.

“That seems a like a lot of pressure on top of mid-terms coming right around the corner.” Patrick squirmed back in his seat. “Not that I don’t appreciate the fact Horus chose me, but isn’t there someone else that can, you know, suit up or whatever it is that happens?”

“Hesmut, the lord of fate, chose you to be Horus’ Knopic. Out of everyone on the face of the earth, only you can wield the power of the sky lord.” Mr. Ubis reached across the desk and tapped him on the chest. “That means in your youthful vernacular, you’re tagged.”

Here are some handy dandy buy links just in case the excerpt got your mouth to watering. Anubis if you’re reading this, no offense to you or Pavlov’s pooch.

Desert Breeze Publishing


Barnes and Noble

A Superhero type of week.

Back to Then with Jillian Chantal


I did it! After nearly twenty-five years of plotting and ripping off nearly every movie known to man, I’ve turned my Prius into a fully functioning time machine. Thanks to my ZJ-mod-U-lATeOR, run exclusively on zombie juice stolen for a parallel dimension, I can now travel through time and space. I even painted it a nice shade of TARDIS blue. So, where should I go first? The Jurassic Age? 1962 so I can buy a mint copy of Amazing Fantasy #15? Nope, since I’m a writer, I’m going back to meet some of the greatest literary giants of all time! Brahwahwahwa!

Unfortunately, I blew all my zombie juice going back to spy on the making of Star Wars IV. So, I’ve only got enough power to go back in time three days, give or take. Since, I’ve got to make this count, I’ve decided to go back and meet none other than Jillian Chantal and talk to her about her latest release, The Gambler’s Daughter. Sure, I could have just talked to her back in the past when it came out, but I was too busy worrying about going back to the past from the future that had been now, but is now then. Don’t worry. I’m confused too.

Any who! Time to go back to when Jillian was eagerly awaiting the release of her book. Cue time travelly music.

Boooooshhhhhhhhh ta bashhhhhhhhh da bossssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhh dum de dum dum boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooossssssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhh.

And we’re then!

Jmo: Jillian, come with me if you want to live!

Jillian: I want to liveeee! Grab my arm. Don’t let me fall and die!

Jmo: Not on my watch! First off, thanks for not beating me up, but this was the only way I could talk to you then about now that was then. Never mind. I’m still confused. Why don’t you tell my readers about yourself?

Jillian: I was born in England to the oldest son of the last king and am the real heir to the throne- Oh wait, I can’t tell that part- they’re still looking to assassinate me- the truth is, I’m an American CIA agent working undercover infiltrating the Mafia – No wait- I can’t tell that either or I’d have to kill you. Okay, here’s the truth… ready? Wait for it….  I’m a romance writer. I know- it’s shocking but there you go. That’s who I am.

Jmo: Not as shocking as you’d think. Mainly, because I set the Prius to seek out romance authors and because I know your Historical fiction is quite simply amazing. ‘Redemption for the Devil’ totally blew me away when I read it. What sparked your interest in this genre?

Jillian:  Aww. Serious thanks for that, Jmo. I love that story still. When I wrote it, it was like taking dictation. In fact, I woke up one day with the thought, “My name is Liam Cormac and you’re going to tell my story.” Who could ign ore that command? I had to do it.

I love the early 20th century and the ocean liners of those glory days of pre-airline travel. It fascinates me how people came over the long way, so to speak. I have long been fascinated with the British Isles from reading Agatha Christie and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle as a kid and since it’s part of my family heritage. I’ve also always been a fan of murder mysteries and combining those two interests led first to Redemption for the Devil.

I decided to write The Gambler’s Inheritance series when I heard that the Queen Mary was a floating hotel now and that I could actually stay there. I did stay onboard for two days and the story ideas came calling.

Jmo: Wow! Amazing to see how it all falls into place like that. I have to ask. How much research do you put into your stories before you begin writing? Because, reading you is like being there? The sounds! The sights! The huddled masses on ships to America! Sorta like this trip back in time.

Jillian: Haha. Yep. This trip is full of huddled masses. I see a few of them over in the corner. Maybe they’re merely terrified masses.

Jmo: No, I think they’re waiting for the train to Hogwarts. I get that a lot.

Jillian: Interestingly, the Irish story didn’t take much extra research since I’ve read extensively about the Irish fight for independence and Michael Collins and his death. I had also read a bit about the old ocean liners since I have a dear friend who’s enamored of the lore of the Titanic. She got me interested a few years ago. So, most of the research was fact checking. I did have a moment of panic when I wanted my hero to witness the building of the Empire State Building but I was too early in time.

For the Gambler series, I grabbed (and paid for) a couple of books while I was on the Queen Mary and those jump started my research on dates of sailings and various celebrities who traveled on her from it.

Jmo: I hate to admit this, but I’ve not had the chance to read The Gambler’s Inheritance series. Bad of me I know. Building time machines take up a lot of well time. Do you mind telling us a little about this series and especially the latest book, The Gambler’s Daughter?

Jillian: This series is a set of three separate stories. They’re all people from the same family but each story is a stand-alone. There’s a beginning, middle and end. This is important to me since so many stories these days seem to end with cliffhangers. I don’t dig that at all. I want answers for my money!

There’s at least one murder to solve in each of these stories and lots of romance and flirting going on. The first story, The Gambler, is based when the Queen first took to the seas. It’s set in 1937 and the title character is Dirk McSwain who gambles for a living (imagine that!). The second one, The Gambler’s Brother, is set in 1946 and the title character is Dirk’s brother, Beaumont McSwain, who is a former RAF officer onboard the ship during the time the ship was transporting war brides to America.

The last one in the series is the story of the daughter of Dirk, Bernadette McSwain-  called- of all things- The Gambler’s Daughter. Beaumont’s son is also a central character. This one is set in 1967. That was when the Queen Mary made her final voyage.

These were all super fun to write, but I have to say that the last one was really a blast since it was the only one of the group that takes place when I was on the planet. Now, mind you, I was very young, but I loved that I could picture Bernadette in her go-go boots and mini skirts as well as talking about pop culture television shows I could remember seeing in reruns.

If you like the sixties, afros, go-go boots, high seas, cruises, mysteries, murder, romance and ghosts, this is the book for you.

Jmo: I do! I do! Before I go back to the Future! Man, I’ve been dying to say that. I have one more question to beg of you. What is the one thing you hope your readers take away from reading your books?

Jillian: I hope they find that my characters are realistic and are able to grow and learn from the adversities they undergo on their journeys. I hope they also find some humor in the stories as I try to inject wittiness and banter in the midst of tragedy. I also want to stump them on the whodunit, of course.

I know, that’s more than one thing, so before you go back to the future, Future Boy, let me narrow it down to the most important thing that I hope readers take from my stories:

An escape from the real world for a bit of time.

Jmo: Thanks again for taking the time to chat with me, but I really must be going. The zombie juice is starting to degrade at an alarming rate and I’d like to get home before Jenn discovers I’ve blown up the Prius. Please, feel free to give everyone some buy links for The Gambler’s Daughter and all your books. While you’re at it, tell them where you can be found all over the net.


Jmo: Thanks, for posting those links. Now, I’ve got just enough juice for one more ju….

‘Pzzt bloop fzzzzzzz!’

Well, that didn’t sound good. Exit the Prius in an orderly fashion. Zombified meltdown in minus ten seconds.

Jillian: Thanks Jmo for the fun visit. I hope the Prius got home in one piece and Jenn lets the travels through time continue. If you see Doctor Who, send him by. I’d like to hitch a ride in the Tardis to ride on an old ocean liner. It sounds safer than the Prius.

Jmo: Bye, Jillian and the rest of you guys. Until next week, ‘To Insanity and Beyond’.

Jmo’s Hump Day Writing Blues


You know in most cases when a person hears Hump Day, they get a euphoric cloud floating around their head. Sure, it still happens in relation to the day job most authors are forced to cultivate to do silly things like pay bills and eat.

But, when an author thinks Hump, it’s all about the middle of their current work in process, or something nasty that has nothing to do with the subject of this blog. Let’s just forget that, shall we?

Where was I? Oh, yeah. The middle of the book. Beginnings are easy. You’ve got the thrill of a new idea burning its way through your brain. You’re hopped up on some weird literary endorphins that course through you like an illicit substance and before you know it, you’ve written three thousand words with ten thousand more bursting from the seams that remain of your skull.


You hit the wall. That grand imaginary wall that stops the possibility of a single word getting through the thickness of your frantic thoughts. Yep, I’m talking about writer’s block. But, when you get right down to it, is it a block? I mean you’ve got the ideas. A ton of them, if you’re anything like me. You see so many paths that your characters and story could take. When you think about it, we shouldn’t call it writer’s block. If we wanted to get truthful about it, we should call it a writer’s traffic jam. We’ve got all these what ifs jamming against each other fighting to get past the broken down Pinto that’s been holding up progress. Because that’s what a writer’s block is. A bad idea that has blown a tire and is sitting in the middle of the interstate of our stories.


Trust me. I’m right.

When we start that blazing beginning, we are so sure we know what our story is about. Come on. We made up the characters. Molded them from the clay of our fevered imaginations. We’ve hijacked a brilliant concept for a story that is both original and tested against any type of storm. Then, both of those things do some crazy stuff, and evolve beyond what we thought they could be. They come alive and go Pinocchio on us. So, we’ve got to sit quietly and bang our heads against the dash…uh, screen, until we figure out where we went wrong and how to make it right.

That’s where all these ideas come from. The neural pathways are jumping with ways to work it out. I know! Have one of the Vamps get bit by a were opossum. Then they can hang upside down by a prehensile tail while they suck the blood. Okay, maybe not that one, but you get the idea. What ifs abound!

What ifs? What’s a what if? A what if is how I describe the act of brainstorming. What if someone does this? What if a zombie apocalypse breaks out? What if I’m losing my mind, and the book is really writing me? Call it literary math, a word problem with the characters represented by X and Y, with the next chapter represented by XY to the nth power. That would make it algebra but I don’t like algebra, so I refuse to call it that.

Let’s move on.

This is the time, if you hope to keep a shred of sanity, you’ve got to step back. Abandon the project, if you will. Not forever, but until you’re not taking things personally. Sometimes, all it takes to get that wrecked idea off the interstate is talking it through with a friend or crit partner. They aren’t emotionally invested. They can see past the hangups that you cling to. Because, you’re clingy, buddy. Hey, I am. You are. We know what SHOULD be happening. Notice the nice caps on that should. Just because you think the next step is an amazing idea, that doesn’t mean it is. Face it. Sometimes ideas suck. Most of the time, we can catch them before they get out of our head, but on rare occasions they just won’t turn you lose. That’s when a new perspective comes in handy. It’s also why as an author you should keep a file for deleted scenes. Just because the idea won’t work where you want to put it, that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be a perfect fit elsewhere.

Never throw out an idea. Consider that a Jmo Rule of Writing.

Ideas are too hard to come by to just toss one away. What might not drive one book, might be just the thing to shoot another to where it needs to go. This might sound crazy, but I’m going to tell you anyway. For me, if I can’t remember an idea, it’s not a good idea. I don’t beat myself up for forgetting this amazing idea I had when I didn’t have a pen handy to jot it down. If it’s good enough to stick in my brain, it’ll be around when I need it. Otherwise, it was just a hiccup in the process.

Getting over the hump, is frustrating, but nothing to go nuts about. That traffic jam is a vital part of the writing process. It’s your subconscious telling you that you’ve lost control of the asylum.  Take that exit and stop at Stuckey’s for a pecan roll until you figure out why that left at Albuquerque you shouldn’t have taken has landed you in a five mile backup somewhere around Dallas. Once you figure that out, you just might have a book on your hands.

One last bit of Jmo-therly advice before I go. Never let that traffic jam derail you from following your dream. Writers are patient enough, and smart enough, to realize that anything worth doing, is worth fighting to have. In the end, that’s what writing is. Fighting common sense to make stuff up. If that isn’t the definition of crazy, I’d like one of you guys to give me a better one.

Starting now…. Go!