The Voice

"Well, when are you going to put this down?" he asked.
"I'm trying to sleep, damn it! Go away," I said.
"But this is brilliant stuff! Listen! I've got a '57 Mustang, and I was turned into a vampire in 1974--or you can change it within a few years. I'm working on who my neighbor is... get this, my neighbor lady is a psychic! She's hounding me, and doesn't know I'm a vampire, yet, but she'll learn it sooner or later and that will eff everything up for me--"

"WAIT A MINUTE!" I shout to this voice. "I don't have a pen or paper on me... I want to get some sleep here."

"...and then she comes to my door pretending to 'borrow' something. Or maybe she has a piece of my mail that somehow got into her box... something like that. You have to throw us together. It will be great!"

Okay. It's me again--without the voice. You go through this as a writer. A new character, a new idea a new whole story comes to you in the middle of the night--in the middle of EVERYTHING you're doing and interrupts the flow. Damn it! GO AWAY!

I'm in the middle of final go-through of the 4th book, and have another book--the only other one I plan on writing this year, and here we go again....

This character's name has been haunting me ever since I saw it somewhere: Peter Warlock. I don't know if I'll keep the first name. If it's someone famous, I don't know where I saw it. But over the past 3 or 4 months I was wondering what sort of character/person he was. Was he a magical person? Did his name fit him? Or was I going to go with something else? Then, a few weeks ago, The Voice came to me out of the blue. He began yammering his whole deal--and it was worse than that. It was the story in his voice. Did I get it down? I don't know if I did it justice, but I tried. Mr. Warlock isn't a warlock at all. Well, here, in his own words is how he puts it....
From Peter Warlock, Private Eye

My name is Peter Warlock, PI. I investigate anything. I've even investigated paranormal happenings when things were slow. Once did a ghost invasion, and that was pretty wild. It was a poltergeist. Nasty fucker, but you know, I got him to leave. You never know what sort of strange situations I get into.

Same thing with my name. With a last name like mine, you'd think I was a wizard, or at least dabbled in the art of witchcraft, or wicca. Nope. But I like how it keeps people guessing, and helps keep them from inferring that I'm really a vampire. No one else, except a few close friends know what I am. That's because they're vampires too. The rest of the humans have no clue. By the way, I get my blood from the hospital. Got friends in low places, if you get my meaning. He's a vampire too, which makes things really easy for me to get information when something comes in and I need to check it out. Like a rogue vampire out of control, and one of his vics come in on a gurney, that sort of thing. It's up to me to find the stupid fuck and either put him straight or take him out. One way or the other I always do my job.

Why is it that vampires portrayed on TV or in the movies have cool, ultra modern digs? Me, I've got a small one bedroom, utilities included and I'm a bit behind on my rent. I keep ducking my landlady because I'm perpetually a bit behind on rent, and have to wait until I get a client—and they pay me. Yeah, I'm not one of those rich bastard vampires who've been around a few hundred years who manage to somehow accumulate wealth (most likely steal it from those they've attacked). I'm an honest vampire, trying to make a living—and not get caught at it.

Anyway, I've changed my locks on my door so that my landlady doesn't barge in here demanding pay, or try and evict me. I really don't want her to storm in on me while I'm sleeping—during the day. Yeah, that would pretty much freak her out if she catches me in bed because I sleep in the raw, no blankets or sheets, either. I don't think she'd want to see that. Well, maybe she would, but I'm nothing to write home about. I'm medium build and height, brown hair and eyes, and I could pass for good-looking, but I wouldn't go as far as saying I'm handsome.

Wait. That's my phone. I'd better see who it is... it might be important.

Okay, that's about all I've got so far. At this juncture, I know things will change. As to when I get to write about Mr. Warlock, I have no idea. Got my fingers busy at the moment.

How many times does this, or has this happened to you? New character/ a voice comes to you and you haven't got time to write about it?

Meet Kaleb and Sebastian from "Six Shades of Hell"

The other day over on Muse I made reference to a picture that I saw on another blog and it gave me an idea for two new characters for the eighth book. Of course these are cartoon characters. Forgive me if I don't know who they are, but the artwork is familiar.

At any rate, the picture of these two and what they say inside the bubble gave me the idea: Yes! These two would be perfect to add a little comic relief when I need it. Some different dynamics, and texture to the read. I always want to add someone new to the book. Of course later on, the book has Sabrina off on one of her adventures, and she goes back to Beyond Black Veil (Vampire Nocturne), and she visits a few old friends, makes new ones, and goes on to get into new situations which involve lots of interesting, dangerous, perilous situations.

As I mentioned on that post, I had put in two other characters at first. It was falling flat. Well, instead of trying to write these two in--Kaleb and Sebastian--I did a "find and replace" window. Replacing Sebastian for James and Kaleb for Dolores. I had to make sure where I had Dolores I've changed the "she" to "he", but for the most part the rewrite of this has been minimal, and enjoyable.

Here is a little excerpt from what I've got so far...
~from Six Shades of Hell by Lorelei Bell

As it turned out I didn't have to go all the way into the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later, when I opened the bathroom door, which opened out into the dining room, there they both where. Two young men, who were in their twenties, standing near the dining room table wearing a black jackets over a dark vests and white shirt, white gloves and a conservative ties. In looks they were similar build, and their long-ish hair was styled in a disarray of locks. One was blond, the other had black hair, bleached blond only on the top, and slightly mussier, and the dark lengths in the front were much longer, hanging way down over his eyes, but in trained tendrils. He wore black-rimmed glasses.

They beamed at me. “Good morning, mistress,” they said in stereo.

I looked at the dining table, surprised to see a sterling silver coffee urn—which I know I didn't own—and the other aromas, which came from under a domed platter, and I could definitely detect eggs and possibly bacon. Okay. So, maybe they could stay. They were cute, in their own way.

I twisted my mouth and looked back up at them. “Did Tremayne send for you to come all the way out here?”

They nodded, grinning. “He texted us,” the blond said.

“Oh, introductions! This is Kaleb, with a 'K',” said the one wearing glasses.

“And he's Sebastian,” Kaleb said, holding out his hands toward the other man.

“You two are brothers?”

“Yes,” they both said.

“You used to work at the Tremayne Towers,” I said, squinting. “I'm getting Letitia from you.”

“Oh, she's good,” Kaleb said, sounding impressed.

“Tremayne was right about her.” Sebastian agreed. His brother nodded.

“We were Letitia's servants. Until her death, that is,” Kaleb said, and looked down and away.

“There, brother, it's okay,” Sebastian consoled his brother, patting him on the shoulder. To me he said, “Kaleb was the one who found her in her bedroom.”

I nodded with his somber explanation, and at the same time I got the image straight from Kaleb. He had walked in that next day, and found Letitia on the floor, dead. She had been impaled in the heart by a wooden bolt from murderer, Toby Hunt. The two contacted Tremayne right away—who lived in a penthouse right across from her—and he was the one who examined her. She had been Tremayne's life-time mate for many centuries.

“I'm sorry,” I said. Too many memories surfaced from this read. It was how I came to be in Tremayne's employ from then on, as his “seer”, and solved the murder, telling him nearly too late who it was. It felt like years ago and it was only a few months ago. So much had happened since then it made my head spin.

“Oh, you needn't apologize,” Sebastian said, shaking his head to move the separate long dark strands around. He reminded me a little of a Shetland pony. A thin one. He had narrow shoulders, like his brother (who was slightly taller), both were under six feet tall. Possibly five eight and five seven.

“No. I mean, I'm sorry for your loss. I can see you were very fond of her. I imagine she was someone everyone loved,” I said.

“Hard to believe it of a vampire, but yes. She was an easy mistress. Not too terribly demanding,” Sebastian said.

“Plus she gave us wonderful bonuses, and eight weeks vacation, whenever we wanted it, and other things.”

“Don't forget the wheels, Kaleb,” Sebastian reminded.

Kaleb's eyes widened. “Really super wheels. It's a good thing we could borrow the SUV, today, though, in order to get out here,” Kaleb said.

Sebastian nodded and turned to me. “Anyway, we hope we can serve you in your time of need, mistress.”

I smiled. “I've never had a broken anything.” Glancing down at my leg, I still stood with the crutches under each arm. “And this is really nice what you've set up here,” I said, nodding toward the prepared table.

“I hope you don't mind, but we took the bedroom with the twin beds,” Sebastian said. “It reminds us of our boyhood.”

“No. That's fine. If you need anything at all, or need something, just ask. Sorry that my house isn't quite the luxury of a penthouse.”

“Oh, it's charming,” Kaleb said, eyes glinting from under his blond locks as he took in the room.“I especially like the envelope door and French doors. Don't you, brother?”

“That room I'll be busy rearranging the furniture in,” Sebastian said.

I'm from Venus, Where are you from?

Hi, all my friends, fans and readers. How has your Memorial Day Weekend been going?
Mine's been eh... Rained for the most part. We couldn't grill the steaks out. Oh well. Today's a gloomy day, but at least I'm home.

The Work In Progress (#7 novel/aka Vampire Interlude) is taking shape. I've gotten well past page 100. Sabrina has lost her memory in the beginning of this work, and I've been trying to not be too repetitive. As with any series you have to introduce new characters in each one, or it becomes stale. And you have to kill a few people off, so you do need to bring in new characters to give it a little spice. I love inventing the new person, and as much I also like to come up with a name for them. This guy's name is Bryce Witherspoon. Conjures all sorts of things about him, doesn't it? Here's a description of him:

James brought the guy in. At six-two Bryce was a handsome dude with about three inches of brown hair that had no direction at all. I wanted to take a comb to it and make sense of it all. Glacially blue eyes met mine as he greeted me. “Ms. Strong,” he said, smiling. His face had not seen a razor in a few days. I thought that maybe he might have been a Gladiator in a distant past life—I don't know where that came from. One long scar on his left cheek plowed through the dark bristle giving him that borderline dangerous look. I knew the scar had not been won in any ally fight.

As I worked on Bryce, the character sort of emerged. In other words, his character simply developed over night. In order to show any character's personality, dialogue is usually one of the best avenues for that:

He seemed to know where we were heading and drove through the city. Bryce was a quiet, introspective guy. I didn't want to take a read from him, but bits and pieces were coming to me. But if I didn't ask him where he was from and such, I might begin saying stuff and freak him out. Plus the quiet between us grew so uncomfortable, I was about to scream.

“So, Bryce. You married?”

“Nope.” No elaboration? Hmm.

“Girlfriend?”

“Nope.”

“Boyfriend?” I smiled to myself, waiting to see how he would react to that question.

He chuckled.

“Yes?” I prodded, chuckling to myself. I knew he wasn't gay. I knew he wasn't in any relationship. Just getting him to open up was like trying to open a can with a rock. Sheesh!

“No.” He glared at me. Homophobe. “My turn,” he said, giving me an edgy look, one I would later call The Bryce Look, a.k.a. The Eye Fuck. Damned if it didn't hit me in my female area making a tingling sensation down under.

“Okay. Go,” I said.

“You're getting a divorce. So, whose the unlucky guy?”

“His name is Vasyl. Vampire.”

“Why are you divorcing him?”

I sat and pondered this for the first time since the idea came up. Yeah. Why was I? Because Stefan made me think it was a good idea?

“It's complicated,” I said.

“Try me. I've been with these vampires for three years. Nothing you could possibly say could shock me.”

No? “Well he left me,” I said. I only knew what Stefan (and others) had told me. I couldn't remember any of it. I hadn't given Vasyl a chance to speak up about it. Did I have him on speed-dial? No. I hadn't seen his name on my scroll earlier. Why wouldn't I have a number for Vasyl? Strange.

“Why'd he leave you?”

“Vampire. The whole blood thing. Apparently I have irresistible blood.”

“Hmmm,” he said, and his eyes raked up and down me which gave me another little tingle again. Crap, I really had to rein in my womanly desires. I could just guess what he thought about me was irresistible.

“Okay, no more relationship questions,” I said. Definitely. I felt such questions might lead to dangerous territory. Gak, it already had. Best to just not go there. “Where were you born?”

“Mars. You?”

“Venus, of course,” I said not missing a beat.

“Where on Venus?” He was a real smart ass, I had to admit.

“In the country, about sixty miles west from here. You?”

“City. This one.” No wonder he knew the city well and drove with such aplomb. He bent his head forward and looked out the windshield. “Sky looks like it wants to snow.”

“Yes. It will,” I said, my voice calm and collected. “It will snow at precisely twelve fifteen.”

He gave me a startled look. “Seriously?”

I smiled, I'd gotten him with that. “We'll wait and see.”

When I'm working on a scene sometimes the dialogue comes right away. Other times, I'm trying to get the scene down and worry about dialogue (to a certain extent, if it's extra), later. So, this morning at around 4a.m., I had this in my head and I got up and got out my notebook and wrote it down.

“Is there a drug store nearby?” I asked, finally able to straighten and lean more on the doorway, and not on him.

“I think so. Why?”

I fumbled with my purse, found what I was looking for and said, “I need to fill a prescription. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” I dipped back into the car, and he got in and drove us back out. The Walgreens was only a few blocks away. Bryce seemed to know the city well.

It didn't take very long. Fortunately we could use the drive up for what I needed.

I handed him the pill pack that had my prescription information on it. He put it into the little sliding drawer for the pharmasist.

“Birth control?” he said. “I didn't know you could get pregnant from a vampire.”

“Who said anything aobut my having sex with a vampire—or anyone?” I countered. “A woman can take the pill for other reasons, like regulating her period. Mine isn't regular, and it's very heavy.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “It was none of my business.”

Damn straight.

He was looking out the windshield, not at me. I'd embarrassed him, maybe even grossed him out a little. Good. Odd how I'd been able to come up with that excuse so quickly. Then images popped into my head: Lindee and me doing something with my pill pack and then me with a handsome guy with long coiling hair (obviously a vampire), and then throwing it into a waste can. Then I'm in his arms.

Whoa. A memory? Was that man Vasyl? If it was, he was extremely handsome. Why was I throwing away the pill pack?

Lindee might know something about that, since she and I were doing something and I got that it seemed devious. Why would I throw the pill pack away?

“They need your card,” he said, killing my thoughts then.

“Huh?” I looked at him.

“They need payment? You've got money or a card to pay?”

“Oh, sure.” I handed him my Visa.

It had begun to snow. Small flakes. I smiled, but wanted to go home and wondered how I would manage since Bryce was there to keep an eye on me, and keep me in the penthouse. Oh, yes. I knew Stefan had given him orders that no matter what I was to remain in the building, except for small excursions—like to the hospital and drug store.

Well, that's all I have for today. Hope your Memorial Day goes well, whatever the weather.

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