roh morgon

~ women in horror month blog talks – day 5

W.J. Howard is the organizer behind this week’s Women in Horror Month Blog Talks. Below is her blog post with a list of featured writers for today’s topic, “Torture”.

~ ~ ~

Welcome to our final day of Women in Horror Month Blog Talks featuring a discussion on torture. Below is a list of blogs and guests in today’s talks.

To Connect with Participants and Join More Discussions
Go to the Facebook Event Page

James P. McDonald hosts
Torture as a Favorite Pastime
by Anne Hogue-Boucher

Anne is always wondering when the stars will be right, and is madly in love with her spouse. She is a werewolf wrangler, and writer of weird fiction and horror.
Go to Blog

W. J. Howard hosts
Thinking Torture
by Dina Rae

Dina Rae has penned 6 books with a 7th on the way. Her themes revolve around conspiracy, NWO, paranormal, and aliens. The Best Seller is her latest book.
Go to Blog

Briana Robertson hosts
Fascinating Torture
by W. J. Howard

Wendy Howard writes dark stories mixed with comedy. She lives in Colorado with her husband and two boisterous beagles, and wine is an important part of her diet.
Go to Blog

Roadie Notes hosts
The Most Intense Torture
by Debbie Christiana

Debbie writes dark romantic fiction and dark short fiction. She’s a lover of yoga, Halloween, horror, wine and Labradors.
Go to Blog

Dina Rae hosts
A Difficult Topic
by James P. McDonald

James is a business and technology consultant, fiction and non-fic author, technology and futurist speaker.
Go to Blog

W. J. Howard hosts
The Threat
by L.J. Moran

L.J. Moran currently lives in S. Jersey. She’s into animal rescue, horror conventions, and is addicted to coffee.
Go to Blog

roh morgon @ Friday, 24 February 2017 8:19 am
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~ women in horror month blog talks – day 4

W.J. Howard is the organizer behind this week’s Women in Horror Month Blog Talks. Below is her blog post with a list of featured writers for today’s topic, “Evil Women in Pop Culture”.

~ ~ ~

Welcome to our fourth day of Women in Horror Month Blog Talks featuring a discussion on evil women in pop culture. Below is a list of blogs and guests in today’s talks.

To Connect with Participants and Join More Discussions
Go to the Facebook Event Page

W. J. Howard hosts
The Worst Kind of Villain
by James P. McDonald

James is a business and technology consultant, fiction and non-fic author, technology and futurist speaker.
Go to Blog

James P. McDonald hosts
Women Who Kill
by C.A. Verstraete

C.A. Verstraete loves writing with a bit of a scare! She is author of Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter and a young adult novel, GIRL Z: My Life as a Teenage Zombie.
Go to Blog

 W. J. Howard hosts
My top 5 Villainesses in Horror/SF Horror list
by Juli D. Revezzo
Juli writes fantasy and romantic stories filled in with elements garnered from a lifetime love affair with magic, myth, witches, wizards, and fated lovers and legend.

C.A. Verstraete hosts
Death Personified
by Zrinka Jelic

Zrinka Jelic lives in Ontario, Canada. She’s a member of the Romance Writers of America and its Fantasy Futuristic & Paranormal chapter, as well as Savvy Authors.
Go to Blog

Claire Fitzpatrick hosts
Beverley Allitt: Serial Murderer and
Evil Woman in Pop Culture
by W. J. Howard

Wendy Howard writes dark stories mixed with comedy. She lives in Colorado with her husband and two boisterous beagles, and wine is an important part of her diet.
Go to Blog

roh morgon @ Thursday, 23 February 2017 6:13 am
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~ women in horror month blog talks – day 3

W.J. Howard is the organizer behind this week’s Women in Horror Month Blog Talks. Below is her blog post with a list of featured writers for today’s topic, “Scary Confessions”.

~ ~ ~

Welcome to our third day of Women in Horror Month Blog Talks featuring a discussion on our scary confessions. Below is a list of blogs and guests in today’s talks.

To Connect with Participants and Join More Discussions
Go to the Facebook Event Page

W. J. Howard hosts
Scary Inspiration
by W. J. Howard with Lauren Curtis

Wendy Howard writes dark stories mixed with comedy. She lives in Colorado with her husband and two boisterous beagles, and wine is an important part of her diet.
Go to Blog

Audrey Brice hosts
Secret Confession: I’m Not a Woman in Horror
by B.E. Scully

B.E. Scully lives in a haunted red house that lacks a foundation in the misty woods of Oregon with a variety of human and animal companions.
Go to Blog

Lincoln Farish hosts
Inner Voice
by Suzie Lockhart

Convinced she was destined to be an artist, Suzie Lockhart attended The Art Institute of Pittsburgh after graduating high school, but the gnawing urge to write remained with her.
by Naching T. Kassa

Naching T. Kassa is a wife, mother, and Horror Author. She is a member of the Horror Writers Association and a contributor to the Demonic Visions series.
Go to Blog

Naching T. Kassa hosts
A Path of Fear
by Carson Buckingham

Carson Buckingham is a professional novelist, short story writer, editor, proofreader, copywriter, technical writer, comedy writer and worshipper of Terry Pratchett and Shirley Jackson.
Nightmare Influence
by Zrinka Jelic

Zrinka Jelic is a member Romance Writers of America and its Fantasy Futuristic & Paranormal chapter, as well as Savvy Authors. She writes contemporary fiction, which leans toward the paranormal and adds a pinch of history.
Go to Blog

Travis Heermann hosts

Enter the Spirit World
by Audrey Brice

Audrey Brice writes paranormal thrillers, mysteries, and horror stories where spirits, demons, and occult practitioners are both heroes and villains.
Everyday Horror
by Briana Robertson

Briana Robertson is the author of all things dark–horror, fantasy, poetry, and more. Advocate for mental health and suicide awareness. Wife and mother of three.
Go to Blog

Christine Fitzpatrick hosts
Irrational Things
by Claire L. Fishback

Claire lives in Morrison, Colorado with her loving husband, Tim, and their pit bull mix, Belle. Writing has been her passion since age six.
Fear of Failure
by James P. McDonald

James is a business and technology consultant, fiction and non-fic author, technology and futurist speaker.
Go to Blog

Roadie Notes hosts
Night Terrors
by KC Grifant

The founding co-chair of the Horror Writers Association’s San Diego Chapter, KC Grifant has written scifi, horror and fantasy stories for the Lovecraft Ezine and more.
Go to Blog

roh morgon @ Wednesday, 22 February 2017 8:39 am
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~ women in horror month blog talks – day 2

W.J. Howard is the organizer behind this week’s Women in Horror Month Blog Talks. Below is her blog post with a list of featured writers for today’s topic, “Favorite Women in Horror”.

~ ~ ~

Welcome to our second day of Women in Horror Month Blog Talks featuring a discussion on our favorite women in horror. Below is a list of blogs and guests in today’s talks.

To Connect with Participants and Join More Discussions
Go to the Facebook Event Page

Morbidly Beautiful hosts
Women I Hope to Write Like
by Roh Morgon

Roh Morgon writes fantasy and horror for middle grade, young adult, and adult readers. She’s best known for her vampire series.
Go to Blog

Roadie Notes hosts
First Lady, Mary Shelley
by James P. McDonald

James is a business and technology consultant, fiction and non-fic author, technology and futurist speaker.
Go to Blog

Blaze McRob hosts
The Dark Romance of Anne Rice
by Travis Heermann

Freelance writer, novelist, award-winning screenwriter, editor, poker player, poet, biker, roustabout, Travis Heermann is a graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop.
Go to Blog

Juli D. Revezzo hosts
Alexandra Sokoloff
by Zrinka Jelic

Zrinka Jelic is a member Romance Writers of America and its Fantasy Futuristic & Paranormal chapter, as well as Savvy Authors. She writes contemporary fiction, which leans toward the paranormal and adds a pinch of history.
Go to Blog

W. J. Howard hosts
Ghost Dance
by Naching T. Kassa

Naching is a wife, mother, and Horror Author. She is a member of the Horror Writers Association and a contributor to the Demonic Visions series.
Go to Blog

Susanne Leist hosts
Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook
by W. J. Howard

Wendy Howard writes dark stories mixed with comedy. She lives in Colorado with her husband and two boisterous beagles, and wine is an important part of her diet.
Go to Blog

Debbie Christiana hosts
A Few Amazing Ladies
by Dina Rae

Dina has penned 6 books with a 7th on the way. Her themes revolve around conspiracy NWO paranormal, and aliens. The Best Seller is her latest release.
Dana Reed
by Audrey Brice

Audrey writes paranormal thrillers, mysteries, and horror stories where spirits, demons, and occult practitioners are both heroes and villains.
Go to Blog

roh morgon @ Tuesday, 21 February 2017 12:54 pm
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~ women in horror month blog talks

This week, Wendy Howard is sponsoring Women in Horror Month Blog Talks on her blog,

She’s bringing bloggers together to promote and celebrate women horror writers and has lined up a pretty cool program. Check out the flyer below for a list of topics, then visit her website to navigate to the various hosts. You can also find good info on the facebook page,

I’m thrilled to participate with my contributions to Monday’s topic, “Choice of Weapons” and Tuesday’s “Favorite Women in Horror”. In addition, commenters on my posts will receive free ebooks.

Monday’s host – A. F. Stewart on her blog, Are You Afraid of the Dark

Tuesday’s host – Morbidly Beautiful‘s Stephanie Malone on her blog, Morbidly Beautiful


roh morgon @ Monday, 20 February 2017 9:58 am
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~wintery winner!

Today is Saturday!

Today’s the day of the *Snowfest* Blogfest participant drawing for a copy of Watcher: Book I of The Chosen. Inclusion in the drawing required the entrant to post a snowy scene or story on their blog.

We ended up with nine entrants (go figure – what is it with the nines?).

I used a really cool tool from RANDOM.ORG to randomly select a winner.

And the winner is…

Rob Lopez of Forsaken Stars!

His entry is titled…wait for it…

Ninth Circle

(Rob just reminded me of this)

Can you believe it! I’m telling you, nine is so closely woven into anything having to do with Watcher that it’s downright spooky sometimes.

Oh, and I guess I should also mention the fact that Rob’s Ninth Circle just happens to be a vampire story.

It gets weirder and weirder all the time.

This will definitely go into the Watcher Weirdness archive (yes, there is such an archive, ‘cuz there is a lot of really strange things that have happened since this story took over my life).

Anyhow, congratulations, Rob!

Once again, thank you, everyone, for participating in the *Snowfest* Blogfest!

Which, by the way, was held on a nine-day. Would you expect anything else?

roh morgon @ Saturday, 4 February 2012 5:29 am
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~last chance to sign up!

Got your winter boots and coat on? Your mittens and ear muffs? Are you ready to dive into a snowdrift?

Today’s the last day to sign up for the *snowfest* blogfest. If you’ve already written your frosty entries, get ready to shove them out into the crisp winter air. If you haven’t, peel yourselves away from that cozy fire and get the snowball rolling.

For those who might be new to blogfests (I know there are a couple of you on here), post your story or scene on your blog anytime after midnight tonite. Then tomorrow, visit everyone’s blog that is on the list and leave a comment. Tell them what you liked about their entry, or just say ‘hi.’

This is a great opportunity to discover new blogs, and have folks discover yours. So sweep the floor, dust the library, and prepare to welcome visitors to your bloghome.

See you all tomorrow!

roh morgon @ Wednesday, 1 February 2012 2:45 pm
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category: blogging events

~interview… and a * snowfest * blogfest!

#1 – I’m being interviewed today! Let me tell you a bit about my host…

J.C. Martin is a fellow writer whose blog I’ve followed since its inception. Its title tells you a bit about her:

J.C. Martin, Fighter Writer
Reading, writing, and fighting–the three joys of life!

J.C. is a black belt and teaches martial arts and self-defense to both children and adults. She also writes dark mysteries and gripping thrillers with a psychological slant.

Needless to say, she writes awesome action scenes and great suspense! I’ve really enjoyed reading her blogfest entries and other writings on her blog.

Her debut novel, Oracle, is scheduled to be released by J. Taylor Publishing August 1, 2012.

J.C. was kind enough to interview me for her weekly feature, Writer Wednesday. You can check it out here.

Thank you, J.C.!


#2 –  * Snowfest * Blogfest

Hopefully everyone’s recovered from NaNoWriMo and the holidaze…so I think it’s time for a blogfest!

I love blogfests! They’re a fun writing exercise and give me a chance to check out other writers’ works. In fact, my two published short stories, The Monster’s Growl and The Seduction, are both former blogfest entries!

I haven’t hosted a blogfest in quite awhile, so I thought in honor of the New Year I’d do so.

I’m calling it * Snowfest *, because it’s that time of year for some folks (I say this as I look outside at sunny skies and the non-snow covered rolling hills of California). I love the snow, so the theme of this blogfest is… to write a scene in the snow!

Here’s the details:

1) What: Write a scene that takes place in the snow. It can be snowing or not, just as long as snow is part of the setting. And for those of you who like an extra challenge, write a scene in which snow is the main focus of the characters, whether they’re building a snowman or fighting for their lives in a snowstorm.

2) Word count: 1,200 words or so (I can never keep my own entries in any blogfest under 1,000!)

3) Blogfest date: February 2, 2012

BONUS: Watcher Giveaway!

One entry will be selected at random to win a free copy of Watcher: Book I of The Chosen.

So bring out your shovels, I mean pens, and join me in a snowdance to celebrate one of the most beautiful forms of the water that gives life to our planet. And don’t forget the carrot for that snowman.

You can find the list of participants here. And if you want to spread the word, just copy the blogfest banner!

roh morgon @ Wednesday, 4 January 2012 6:47 am
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~book signings, open mic night, and an interview!


A couple of days ago, I was bemoaning all of the PR work I find myself continually doing.

And then the results started rolling in.

1)  Today I’m featured on a blog!

I recently participated in a blogfest with a Native American theme. An excerpt from my novella, The Last Trace, tied for first place with an entry by Kevin Lazarus.

The blogfest was hosted by the lovely Amy Jarecki. She’s the author of the just-released novel Koicto, a historical fantasy centered around a young Native American struggling to save his tribe from extinction. It looks awesome (I just received a copy and am starting it next week) and it has the most gorgeous cover. Check it out:

 Anyhow, for being a winner in her blogfest, Amy interviewed me on her blog. So if you want to find out some juicy stuff you can use against me later, go check it out!

2)  Open Mic Night Readings

The FSFW Open Mic Night is alive and kicking. Rob Lopez, FSFW member, has arranged with Clovis Book Barn to host our event. I, along with other FSFWers, will be doing readings this Friday, December 9, from 6:30 – 8:00pm. If you live in the area, please join us!

3)  Book Signing at Dark Delicacies

Yeah, you read that right. This Sunday December 11, I’m joining five other authors to do signings at the famed Dark Delicacies in Burbank. Dark Delicacies not only specializes in books, gifts, and collectibles in the dark fantasy and horror genres, they also regularly host big-name authors and members of the film industry. I’m super jazzed to be signing alongside Gabrielle Faust, V.M.K. Fewing, Rebekah Weatherspoon, P.S. Gifford, and Colette Freedman.

4)  Book Signing at Clovis Book Barn

Saturday, December 17 at 1:00pm, I’ll be joining other FSFW writers at the Clovis Book Barn in celebration of our First Annual Bookfest. We’re doing all sorts of stuff to celebrate books – signings, readings, raffles, etc. If you live in the area, come join us in the fun and maybe even win a signed book or two by the FSFW writers.

~ ~ ~

Well, that’s it for now – I’m worn out from just typing all of this!

So go check out my interview on Amy’s blog. There will be a test on Monday :)


roh morgon @ Wednesday, 7 December 2011 1:30 pm
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~excerpt – The Last Trace

My friend, Amy Jarecki (we met at Dave Farland’s workshop!), is running a blogfest in celebration of the release of her new novel, Koicto. The theme of the blogfest is Native American.

I just happen to be working on a novella set within The Chosen world titled The Last Trace. This story introduces readers to the half-Cree Taz, a key character from Runner: Book II of The Chosen.

In honor of Amy’s blogfest and the release of Koicto, here’s a short excerpt:

October 1842

Trace Pierre Tasman stopped and knelt in the middle of the narrow trail. Even in the fading light of dusk, the deer’s track stood out in sharp contrast to the blurry, older prints scattered along the tree-lined path. He fingered the track’s sharp edges, noting the damp soil in the deepest part of the print.

He slowly stood, nocked an arrow, and drew back the bowstring. His moccasined feet stepped carefully, quietly.

A twig snapped up ahead and Trace stopped, becoming as still as the boulder next to the path. He took a deep breath and stretched the bowstring a little tighter and waited. A six-point buck walked out of the trees and stood at the edge of the trail not thirty feet ahead. Trace released the arrow along with his breath, and the feathered shaft hissed through the air to sink into the deer’s side just behind the shoulder.

The deer coughed and leapt forward, then bounded up the trail. Trace hung back, watching the white flag of the animal’s tail until it disappeared over a small rise. He broke into a quiet jog, slowing as he topped the hill. The buck was down, about sixty feet ahead. The arrow shuddered in rhythm with his shallow breaths.

Trace padded up to the deer. As the animal tried to lift his antlered head, Trace pulled his knife from its buckskin sheath, knelt, and slit the tawny throat.

He whispered a prayer of thanks in his mother’s Cree tongue, keeping his hand on the animal as it died.

With a glance at the darkening sky, Trace stood and tied back his long black hair. He shoved his buckskin shirtsleeves up along his forearms, bent to the fallen deer, and picked up his knife. Within minutes, he’d gutted and cleaned the carcass. He stood and wiped off his blade with a handful of dried grasses, then looked up.

And froze.

A white woman stood a little ways from him up the trail. He noted her ragged skirts, threadbare overcoat, and matted ash-blond hair. But most of all he noted her blue eyes staring at him with the predatory focus of a mountain lion.

As red flashed within their depths, alarm rippled through his gut.

Machaya, he thought. Demon.

Trace fought the panic rising in his throat and tightened his grip on the knife.

The woman moved. Fast.

When she hit him, it was as though he’d been kicked by a mule. He flew backwards, then slammed into the ground beneath her weight, his breath exploding from his chest. His head slammed as well, and as he fought to keep from blacking out, he felt her grab his hair and yank his head to the side.

Her teeth tore into his throat and he screamed.

Trace could feel the life being drained from him, being sucked from him. His muscles no longer responding, he slowly succumbed to soul-stealing pain and a darkness blacker than the surrounding night.

~ ~ ~

Copyright © 2011 Roh Morgon

roh morgon @ Tuesday, 15 November 2011 10:50 am
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~Entry-Inanimation Blogfest: “The Seduction”

Blogfest time! Yeah, I haven’t participated in one for a while.

I sure had fun with this one.

After you’ve read my entry, be sure to check out the other entries for The Red Angel’s Inanimation blogfest. She says,  “The idea is to write an entry of NO MORE THAN 1000 words that somehow incorporates the personification of inanimate objects. It can be a poem, a short short, a letter (perhaps to your favorite childhood toy?), a fairytale, a scene from a dream, or even a song–anything you want! It can be something you’ve written in the past or it could be totally brand new…it’s all up to you!”

Unfortunately, I hadn’t realized I’d broken her number one rule (1000 word limit) until my story was done. Oh, well – you’re free to stop reading after the 1,000th word!

And now, for your reading pleasure, I present “The Seduction”


She spotted it from clear across the parking lot. Low, shiny, black. It beckoned her.

Come to me.

Captivated, she walked closer, admiring its sleek lines, its wedge-like shape. She stopped next to it, her breath indrawn. Her eyes traveled slowly along every curve and angle, finding no flaw.

I am yours, it whispered.

She walked around the back of the steel beast, admiring the wide flair of fender beneath the sloping rear window. The taillights formed graceful arcs, red bracketed in chrome, like two crimson eyes, and she nodded.

I am yours.

She worked her way along the other side, her eyes narrowing above her smile as she observed the tapered nose. When she moved to the front of the machine, she took a sharp breath and held it, trapped in the wicked gaze of the almond-shaped headlights. Her eyes drifted downward and widened at the sight of the clear-lensed foglights. Low on the bumper, they reminded her of a pair of curved daggers, the points angled inward and down.

No, she thought. Fangs. They look like fangs.

A chill ran through her.

Come. Be with me.

Startled, she backed away from his alluring demand.

No, she thought. I can’t afford a new car right now. Especially one like this.

But she couldn’t deny her attraction.

Come. Touch me.

She tore herself from its magnetic stare. Against her will, she stepped around to the door.

Her fingers curled all the way around the handle and she smiled as it nestled comfortably in her palm, and when it pulled out instead of up, her smile broadened. She’d always disliked handles that pulled up–they were so awkward when her arms were full.

The door swung open with little effort and the scent of fine leather drifted out, seducing her further.

Come. We were meant to be.

She lowered herself into the deep, contoured seat. Her pulse sped up as she settled into its rich embrace. It fit her body perfectly, as though it were made just for her. Chills ran through her again she snuggled against its firm hold, soft but strong.

Ah, my sweet. You see?

She reached up to stroke, then take hold of the leather-wrapped steering wheel. It fit just right, molded to support her hands in her favorite position. The sound system and Bluetooth phone buttons were strategically-placed around its rim, ensuring her hands would never need to leave their resting spot.

I am yours.

Her gaze drifted over controls and gauges situated to help keep human eyes on the road. It fastened on the leather gearshift knob begging to be touched. Oval-shaped and inset with a shiny chrome plate, it pressed against her small hand, smooth and firm. It fit perfectly.

She closed her eyes, caught up in the dream.

A tap on the window broke the spell and she jumped as a salesman leaned down and peered in at her.

Dangling from his hand was a key.

The door opened, and a few quick words later, he was sitting in the passenger seat and, in the ignition, was the same key.

Her hand shook as her fingers slipped around it.

Yes. Let me sing for you.

The black beast rumbled to life with a deep-throated growl, its 3.8-liter engine sounding much lower than she would’ve expected from a car of this type. Her blood answered his call, racing through her veins as her heart beat faster and faster. She smiled, then placed her trembling hand on the gearshift. With a final caress, she slipped it into gear.

The low-slung car surged forward, surprising her with its raw power. More respectful of its sensitivity, she eased out of the driveway and into the street.

This was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. The suspension was stiff but comfortable, without the bounce and sway of a sedan. The steering was tight, responding to nothing more than a squeeze of her hand.

Faster. Let us race the wind.

She turned onto the freeway. Her heart hammered in anticipation.

Flinging her inhibitions aside, she jammed the pedal to the floor and the monster roared.

They were doing 100 by the time they reached the end of the onramp.

Holy crap, she thought as she looked at the speedometer. The salesman beside her coughed and squirmed in his seat. She backed off.

Faster, my love, faster.

The freeway in front of her was empty, and with a glance in the review mirror to check for cops, she gave in to his demand, and went for it.

They screamed up the asphalt, the white dashed lines blurring alongside. Her heart pounded as wave after wave of adrenaline coursed through her. She ignored the babbling salesman. She was drunk on danger and speed.

110. 120. 130.

Yes! Yes! We are as one!

The ecstasy was beyond anything she’d ever imagined.  But she felt a stab of pain at the loss of her innocence as she realized she was forever changed. Nothing would be able to match this.

As reality asserted itself, she relaxed her foot. They slowed to a 75-mile-per-hour crawl, then exited the freeway. She glanced at the white-faced salesman and bit back a grin.

Now, my love, let us dance.

Paying no attention to the protests beside her, she turned the car back onto the freeway.

She laughed at how easily they moved from lane to lane with nothing more than a tightening of her wrist. They were perfectly matched and their graceful waltz between the other cars was smooth, effortless. They were in and out and gone before the drivers even registered their presence.

You see? We were meant to be.

Too soon, they were back at the dealership. The salesman dripped sweat as he scrambled out.

Alone at last, my love. I am yours. Take me.

She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent, memorizing it. One hand cupped the gearshift knob as she ran her other lightly over the steering wheel one last time. She swallowed her regret and slipped outside.

NO! You cannot leave me. I am yours!

She stepped away, then with tears in her eyes, turned to gaze upon him once more. The way he crouched–low, stealthy, his lines promising speed and power, his perfectly-balanced stance athletic and confident, his intense almond-shaped stare, and his fangs, his fangs–etched into her mind, and she knew she’d never forget him.

With a deep sigh, she turned her back on him, and walked away.

NO!  My love…


The days crawled by. He haunted her every waking thought and stalked every dream. She fought his desire, her desire, as she stared at computer screen during the day and TV screen at night.

She found herself driving by the dealership, wondering how she’d gotten there. She could see him, waiting, like a black spider perched in his web.

My love, please…

She’d hit the gas in denial and speed up the street.

I can’t do it, she thought.

But even as she fled, she felt relief that he hadn’t turned his fierce attention to someone else.

Week after week, she fought his call.

I am yours.

She had a nice, sporty sedan that was almost paid off, and she was looking forward to freedom from car payments.

I am yours.

But slowly, she began to succumb to the idea. She rationalized it, focusing on research and math to justify even the possibility.

I am yours.

She met others, in red and yellow, silver and grey, with 2.0 Turbo and 3.8 six-cylinders, in stick and automatic.

I am yours.

Yet she always came back to him. None of them compared to the black devil who’d stolen her heart.

I am yours.

Her resistance crumbled near the end of the third week. After a long, anxiety-ridden night, she got into her sedan, her mind and body numb from lack of sleep.

And then she was standing in front of him.

I am yours, my love. Come, let us be as one again.

She felt disembodied as she watched herself fumble with paperwork and scrawl illegibly across document after document. A check and a handshake sealed the deal.

Reality settled in and a shudder wracked her body. This will be draining my account every month for the next seven years, she thought. What have I done?

She stepped outside and forgot all thoughts of contracts and payments when she looked at him. She walked around him, slowly, like she did the first time they met, and her heart felt as though it would burst.

Her fingers trailed along the handle and then she pulled it, opening the door. His rich leather scent filled her nostrils and she drank in his essence. Drawn into his embrace, she slipped into the deep contoured seat meant only for her and smiled. One hand found its place on the leather-bound steering wheel, and the other…the other inserted the key. Her key.

He roared in triumph and she grinned. As his web settled around her, she heard a low chuckle.

Now…you are MINE.


The above is a somewhat-fictionalized account of a true story. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Wait. There are no names. :)

But to this day, he still owns her—mind, body, and soul.


© 2011 by Roh Morgon. All rights reserved.

roh morgon @ Sunday, 15 May 2011 1:38 pm
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~Logline Blogfest!

Yesterday I attempted to participate in one of Miss Snark’s First Victim’s logline contests, but failed to get my entry in on time  :( – (entries were closed within 2 minutes!)

But today she posted about an ongoing logline blogfest being hosted by Steena at Chocolate Reality. It seems I may be a little too late for it as well (it actually started on Nov 1) but thought I’d throw my hat into the ring anyways.

And with that, here’s my logline #1 for my dark fantasy novel, Watcher:

No longer human and forced to live in isolation to protect her secret, Sunny Martin’s lonely existence changes when she meets Nicolas, the enigmatic leader of a hidden society–but as they’re swept into a whirlwind of passion, betrayal, and murder, Sunny faces an agonizing choice: give up her soul for the one she loves, or spend eternity alone.


Based on some of the feedback I’ve received on the above logline, here’s a completely different one. I’m thinking I might end up with a combination of the two.

Logline #2

Predator, killer, monster – these are all labels that Sunny Martin applies to herself since the night she was savaged and drained of her blood. Struggling to survive on the edge of a human world she no longer belongs to, she discovers a second world, a world of dangerous beings akin to her, yet not. Her journey to bridge the two is one that brings unexpected love and heartbreak, and true transformation.


Combination: Logline #3:

Predator, killer, monster – these are all labels that Sunny Martin applies to herself since the night she was ripped through her car window and drained of her blood. Struggling to survive on the edge of a human world she no longer belongs to, her lonely existence changes when she meets Nicolas, the enigmatic leader of a hidden society–but as they’re swept into a whirlwind of passion, betrayal, and murder, Sunny faces an agonizing choice: give up her soul for the one she loves, or spend eternity alone.


Logline #4 – I think this might be the one:

Predator, killer, monster – these are all labels Sunny Martin applies to herself since the night she was ripped through her car window and drained of her blood. Struggling to survive on the edge of a human world she no longer belongs to, her lonely existence changes when she meets Nicolas, the enigmatic leader of a hidden society–but soon their passion, tainted by betrayal and murder, drives Sunny toward an agonizing choice: give up her soul for the one she loves, or spend eternity alone.


And it’s too late for the contest, but here’s Logline #5:

Predator, killer, monster–these are all labels Sunny Martin applies to herself since the night she was ripped through her car window and drained of her blood. Her lonely existence changes when she meets Nicolas, the enigmatic leader of a hidden society–but soon their passion, tainted by betrayal and murder, drives Sunny toward an agonizing choice: give up her soul for the one she loves, or remain alone…forever.


A suggestion from someone near and dear to me is to rearrange a couple of the opening words. I think this works better…thanks, Tristain!

The latest incarnation, Logline #6:

Monster, predator, killer–these are all labels Sunny Martin applies to herself since the night she was ripped through her car window and drained of her blood. Her lonely existence changes when she meets Nicolas, the enigmatic leader of a hidden society–but soon their passion, tainted by betrayal and murder, drives Sunny toward an agonizing choice: give up her soul for the one she loves, or remain alone…forever.


Let me know what you think!

Be sure to go here to read the other logline entries in this ‘fest.

And thanks, Steena, for hosting such an awesome blogfest!

roh morgon @ Wednesday, 3 November 2010 2:44 pm
Comments (32)

~boo :(


As in ‘boo-hoo’.

The month of Boo is over, done, finis. No more costume parties, no more Halloween spoofs on TV, no more boo.

This year’s Halloween was a blast. I was lucky enough to attend FIVE costume events over the course of three weeks, traveling well over 1,700 miles to do so. Now five may not sound like much to those who live in large cities, but for those of us in the cultural wasteland of Central California, that’s a lot. And only one of those events actually took place in said cultural wasteland. The others required driving to the Coast and to L.A. – hence, the 1,700 miles.

But the other thing that made this year’s Halloween fun was the Monster Mash Blogfest. The entries were amazing. Some were humorous, some were spooky, and some were downright creepy. A few were by folks who don’t normally write of monsters and things in the dark, but they rose to the challenge and put forth stellar works.

Go here for the list of entrants and visit their blogs to check out their stories. I’m sure you’ll find them quite entertaining, and they’ll either bring a smile to your face or make your skin crawl.

And to those of you who participated – thank you for bringing your characters to the Monster Mash. I enjoyed meeting them and hope you’ll bring them by for the next party.

roh morgon @ Tuesday, 2 November 2010 9:29 am
Comments (5)
category: blogging events

~Monster Mash Blogfest!


It’s so not cool to be late to one’s own party. I tried to explain to the vampires, shifters, and werewolves with whom I’ve been partying the last two days that I needed to get home to the Monster Mash, and they finally relented and let me go.

Good thing the Mash is running all week. A number of partiers have posted their stories already, so be sure to see the guest list to see who they might’ve brought along with them.

Here are my special guests. They’re from a YA novel that I’m working on. Hope you enjoy hanging out with them!


Stupid werewolves. They drive me crazy with their idiotic howling at the moon. It sounds like a big pack in the woods tonight – think I’ll stay inside ‘til San gets here.

But I wish he’d hurry. The full moon jacks my nerves and I need to get out for awhile,  even though I promised my ‘parents’ I’d stay in tonight.

Yeah, fat chance. I’m just as big a liar in this life as I was in my other.

They’re not really my parents. They’re just who I was assigned to because the Elders said I was too immature to be on my own. Whatever. They can go suck a tree.

A soft tapping at the glass brings a smile to my face. I comb back the blond wisps that’ve worked loose from my ponytail and turn to open the window. Laughter escapes me at the sight of a ridiculous little bat doing flips in the air. I wrinkle my nose and stick out my teeth in imitation of his batface and raise the window a few inches. He swoops in, shifts to human form mid-air, and lands gracefully on his feet. He then bows with a sweeping gesture of his arm.

“Good evening, Madam,” San announces in a mock Bela Lugosi.

“Good evening, Count.” I play the shy lady, drop my gaze, and curtsy.

“Come here, my dahrling,” he continues in the silly accent. “I have a special gift for you.”

He opens his arms and tips his head. I walk into his embrace, then sink my fangs into his exposed throat.

“Ouch, Jade. Do you have to be so rough?” he says through gritted teeth, his voice his own again.

I take a couple more swallows and shove Sanders away. Pretend hugging’s one thing, but he was enjoying it a little too much, which is why I bit him so hard.

“Sorry. Those loony werewolves are giving me a case of the aggros.”

“Yeah, well, don’t take it out on me. And just for the record, they’re on my last nerve too.” He scowls and rubs his neck, then turns to the window and opens it wider. “You ready?”

I ignore his sulky tone, climb onto the sill, and jump the two stories to the ground. I look up in time to see Sanders launch from the window and shift into a falcon mid-air. As he nears the ground, he shifts again into his human body and lands on his feet.

The best shapeshifter at school, he really is quite smooth and graceful. My dead heart twinges as I watch him and guilt creeps in for being such a bitch.

Irritated at myself, I take off across the wide lawn for the woods. I glance back at the cheetah charging after me and smile. It’s one of the only forms in which he can keep up. I pour on the speed, laughing as we race across the grass and down the path to the trees.


We peer through the bushes at the circle of wolfmen gathered in the clearing. One of them is pacing back and forth in the center of the group, thumping his chest as he grunts and growls in their beastly language. I can only imagine what he’s going on about. It’s no doubt the same crap they spout when they’re in human form, about how they don’t have any rights and no one in the community respects them.

I dunno about the rights part, but seriously, who can respect a bunch of slobbering beastmen who go all psycho during the full moon?

Sanders touches my shoulder, grins, and shifts into a swallow. He takes off and lands on a tree branch above the snarling group.

I smile as he swoops down and grazes the top of the head belonging to a tall, thin wolfman. The beast growls and swats the air for the swift bird who is no longer there. Sanders lands in a tree and pauses a moment before picking a new target. After the third time, none of them are paying attention to the one in the center. The growls in his audience at the annoying little bird are beginning to drown out the grunts and snarls of the speaker.

Sanders launches again and this time his target is the nose of the werewolf on center stage. The beastman howls at the insult and the whole pack erupts in chorus with him. Their stupid meeting disintegrates into chaos as they whirl around seeking out the tiny flyer.

Stifling my laughter, I grin at Sanders as he lands beside me and give him a thumbs up.

Now it’s my turn.

I slip into the clearing and remain still while they scan the trees above them for the swallow. A new howl rips the air as one of them spots me. The whole pack whips around in a snarling frenzy, but the leader shoves his way to the front and, turning, growls at them in apparent warning to hold up.

As he faces me, I move in, fast, and tweak his nose.

He snaps at the air and I laugh at him from the edge of the clearing. He roars and leaps for me, but I’m gone. Giggling, I run through the woods with the now bloodthirsty pack on my heels. I stay just far enough ahead of them that they can see me, and even allow the leader to get within a few feet. But as he reaches for me, I lunge forward and we burst through the edge of the trees onto Main Street. I move into blur speed and dart behind the stable that’s across the road.

Sanders glides down in owl shape and shifts to human, then gives me a high-five. Snickering, we turn to watch the confused werewolves as they realize I’m gone and they’re in the middle of the street.

An approaching steamcar slams on its brakes and, tires screeching, slides toward the milling beastmen. It comes to a halt, narrowly missing one of them. The pack turns with a snarl and attacks the car.

“Uh-oh,” Sanders whispers.

“Aw, crap.” I watch in shock as parts begin flying off the car.

The driver gets out and the pack turns to him as he steps away.

“Stop!” he roars at the approaching werewolves. They don’t.

As the first one reaches him, he shifts – into a huge red dragon.

Flames erupt from his gaping jaws and shoot out over their heads. They yelp and scatter, then run back into the woods. But one stops at the edge of the trees, the leader. His eyes glow, reflecting the streetlamp, and he raises his snout as he scents the air, no doubt searching for me. With a glance at the dragon, he turns and follows the pack.

The dragon heaves a big sigh and shifts back to human form. We watch, breathless, as he walks around his car looking at the damage. Shaking his head, he starts picking up pieces and putting them in the back seat.

I have a feeling we’re gonna get in big trouble.


© Copyright 2010 Roh Morgon. All rights reserved.

roh morgon @ Saturday, 23 October 2010 11:52 pm
Comments (14)

~Animal Writes Blogfest

I can’t believe I almost missed this blogfest! I’m such an animal person, and was so jazzed when I signed up for the ‘fest last month.

The Animal Writes Blogfest (what a clever name!) is hosted by Danyana at Writing from the Wrogan. Please be sure to visit her site so you can check out the other amazing entries.

Here’s mine. It’s a little something I just pounded out called Side by Side:

Side By Side

Rocky slams his shoulder into mine and I grunt and nearly go down. As I stagger from the impact, he turns and kicks out with both feet, just missing my head. As he prances away, shaking his mane, I tear after him. I bite into the crest of his neck and he slams his rump into my side and spins away. He turns back toward me and rears, striking out as I meet him in the air. Our chests slam together, then as his hooves meet the ground again, I drop to my knees and bite at his foreleg. He half-kneels, tucking it beneath him. We bite at each other’s legs while trying to guard our own, then Rocky stands and does a full-body shake, creating a flurry of dust and hair – his way of announcing game over.

I snort to clear the dirt from my nostrils and shake my body as well, making my own cloud. I snort again and Rocky echoes it, and together we walk down to the pond to get a drink. Tails swish at the flies that have moved in on our sweaty bodies and we drink side by side in long, deep swallows.

Rocky finishes first, and water draining from his muzzle, turns and heads over to the group of fillies grazing at the base of the hill. I gulp a few more mouthfuls, then trot after him. Several of them raise their heads as we approach, nickering. A rumbling answer booms from my chest and I arch my neck and tail and prance toward them. I listen as Rocky’s gait changes beside me, and lengthen my stride to get to the fillies first. Rocky whinnies a low greeting as they turn to watch us.

The pretty red one, Suzie, steps out to meet me, her neck coyly arched. We stop, necks bent nearly in half, and touch noses. She squeals and stamps a front foot, then we sniff each other’s noses again.

I want her. I need to have her. She needs to be mine.

She squeals again, then turns and races off. But before I can take after her, I realize why she left in such a hurry.

Pounding hooves and a roar of rage announce the arrival of Storm, the herd leader. I spin and hear the snap of teeth, and it’s not the snap of play. I leap into a run as his massive chest rams into my butt and I stumble and nearly go down.

He turns and I watch as he races after Rocky, weaving and snapping at him, his ears pinned and his head snaked low. Rocky’s fast, but not fast enough, and as Storm closes in, Rocky ducks to the left. Storm swings wide, then comes at Rocky again in a dead run. Rocky whinnies, his eyes wide, and veers toward me. I turn and join him, and together we race, side by side, with Storm right on our heels.

We cut and weave through the herd, and above the thunder of our hoofbeats I hear Mother call out. I spot her with the other mares, my new sister next to her, and head in that direction. But Storm charges in front of me and I find myself running alongside Rocky again.

We reach the edge of the herd, and I can see Storm out of the corner of my eye, and he’s not giving up. Rocky turns and tries to circle back to the others, but Storm cuts him off. He drives us further and further away, then drops back and returns to the herd.

I wind down into a trot, then stop and try to catch my breath. Rocky’s sides are heaving as well. We stand there for several minutes, side by side, until the panting slows. My whole body is drenched in sweat, and I can feel it running down my neck and legs. The sweat dripping from Rocky’s belly is more like mud, and his flanks and chest are caked in dirty froth.

As our breathing slows, we watch Storm gather the herd and drive them up the hill.

They’re leaving us! A whinny tears from my throat and I break into a trot, and I can hear Rocky following. But Storm turns and races down the hill, screaming, and it’s obvious he’s not going to let us rejoin the herd.

I slow to a walk, then stop. He turns and gallops up the hill, forcing the band into a run. I hear Mother whinny for me, and then they are over the hill and gone.

A bird circles above the hilltop and I realize we’re alone, with no others to protect us. I whinny, and whinny again, but hear nothing in response. Rocky whinnies, too, then after a moment of silence, he snorts and nudges me on the shoulder. He turns and starts walking in the opposite direction. I watch him go, then gaze back at the empty hilltop.

I whinny one more time, then snort and shake my mane, and trot after Rocky. I ease into a walk as I catch up to him, and side by side, we leave our home.

Copyright © 2010 by Roh Morgon. All rights reserved.

roh morgon @ Wednesday, 13 October 2010 11:08 pm
Comments (10)

~October’s Monster Mash Blogfest

Yay! It’s October – my favorite month of the year!

This is the time of year when the veil between the worlds thins and the monsters get to come out and play. TV shows, like the CSI episode I watched last night, are filled with vampires and werewolves. Commercials with children (and adults!) wearing costumes remind us that Halloween will soon be upon us. Specialty stores throw open their doors to help humans and their houses transform into scary creatures and spooky lairs.

Ghosts, goblins, vampires, werewolves, things that go bump in the night – send chills through movie watchers and story readers. And we love our supernatural creatures – creatures that break the laws of nature and man and wreak havoc upon the human world. They provide an outlet for the inner beast that’s tired of society’s restraints and seeks to burst those bonds by its very existence.

So in celebration of the monster that lurks within us all, come join us in:

Since monsters don’t typically follow the rules, I only offer a few guidelines:

1) The story has to contain at least one supernatural creature. Even better, since this IS a Monster Mash (remember the song?), it should have more than one kind.

2) Keep it to 999 words or less, if possible. If you go a few over, I promise not to haunt you. However, bear in mind I have no control over the poltergeists!

3) Blogfest entry deadline is Saturday, October 23. And since I usually celebrate Halloween the entire previous week by attending as many costume parties as I can, you have a whole week to get your story posted and make comments on the other entries.

That’s it. Pretty simple.

Sign up by October 23. Monster Mash ends on Halloween.

Loose the hounds of hell, give wing to leathery masters of the nightsky, throw open the graveyard gates, and show us your sharpest fang and claw.

Here’s a little something to help you get into the mood:

roh morgon @ Friday, 8 October 2010 6:45 am
Comments (20)
category: blogging events

~the bell rings…it’s the Back-to-School Daze Blogfest!

All right, class! It’s time to turn in your homework! You have until Saturday September 18 to get it in!

And if you’re looking to start handing out grades, go here to read everyone’s assignments.

Here’s mine. It’s the opening scene from Fur Before Feathers, a middle-grade short story from my YA Forbidden Doorways series currently under development. Fur is also appearing in the anthology I Dreamed a Crooked Dream by the Fresno Sci-Fi & Fantasy Writers in Winter 2010.



“Class? Class! Quiet now. Give him a chance,” says tiny Miss Meeples, clapping her hands. The dozen other kids in Freshman Talent 101 giggle and snicker behind cupped palms.

“Sanders, you just have to concentrate. Try again.” Miss Meeples squints at me through her wrinkles and oversized glasses as she sits down behind her desk in the front of the classroom. The golden retriever strains at the leash tied to a leg of the teacher’s desk, his expression idiotic as he pants and waves his flag of a tail.

I close my eyes and try to think about the dog, but the image of the black panther at the zoo keeps invading my head. His fur was thick, plush, a light black with darker black spots that only showed when the sun hit it just right. His paws were big–bigger than my hands–and his toes were rounded. I think about his face and the way his whiskers poked out of the skin around his black nose. He had small round ears and a long black tail that swung back and forth as he paced. His walk was more of a glide, smooth and silent. One foot, two foot, three foot…

My skin begins to tingle and itch. My insides feel like they’re crawling–now everything is squirming, wiggling. I fall to my hands and knees, and pain shoots through my body as bones and joints begin to creak. The skin on my face pulls as my nose and jaw vibrate. Ow–my whole face hurts. It’s starting to swell. My gums are throbbing and even my teeth ache.

The world blurs as an electric charge shoots through me, starting at my nose and running through each part of my body. I hear, no–feel–a pop. Like a little bomb went off inside me and its shock wave slams through every cell.

I gasp, again and again, the air rushing in and out of my open mouth. When I close it, a million smells burn my nose, all kinds of smells, and then a chaos of sound explodes in my ears.

The other kids in the class are all round me, shouting and talking and breathing and making so much noise. The dog is a raging maniac, barking and growling as he lunges in my direction, hitting the end of the leash over and over. I turn my head to look at my buddy, Jenky, and as I do, I see the black fur of a panther standing behind me.

Shocked, I spin around and it goes with me, tail lashing. I can feel the muscles in my butt twitching in rhythm with each snap of the tail.

As I look behind me again, I sit down, stunned. And when I lift up my hand, what I see is a big, black paw.

Aw, no way!

I lift the other hand and it’s a paw, too. Rocking back, I look between them and down at black furry feet that match my hands.

Oh, cool! I did it!

“Uh, that’s, uh, very good, Sanders! But the assignment was the dog, remember?!” Miss Meeples tries to shout over the barking as she points at the hysterical golden retriever who is inching the desk in my direction with each frenzied leap.

Screw that. I don’t even like dogs. This is way more awesome.

I stand and turn to Jenky. He’s sitting at his desk with his jaw practically in his lap. He looks so funny it cracks me up.

But we both jump when a snarl comes out of my throat instead of laughter. Jenky’s eyes get even bigger as he scrambles out of his desk. He falls over his chair and I laugh–or snarl–again. He crawls away on all fours and the rest of the kids bail out of their seats. The girls scream, and even some of the guys as they rush to stand by Miss Meeples.

All the screaming and barking hurts my ears and I try to yell at them to shut up. The snarls that come out now are louder, rougher, more like roars.

The dog yelps and jams himself under the desk, everyone in the class shrieks, and they all run for the door. Except Miss Meeples, who reminds me of a pinball, bouncing from kid to kid as she tries to stop them from leaving.

“Boys and girls, stop! Stop!” Her shrill voice stabs through my head.

Aaah–I can’t take this anymore. I need to get out of here.

I look up at one of the open windows and, without another thought, leap through it.

The feel of the grass beneath my paws as I land surprises me. I’m more surprised when I fall on my face. Controlling four legs is trickier than it looks.

“That was graceful.”

The voice startles me, and as I jump up, I feel myself begin to vibrate. I concentrate on the panther–and the vibration fades away. I look around me and spot Sullivan leaning against the big elm tree that’s next to the classroom.

He smiles, then in a blur, shifts into a tiger. The tiger strolls over to me and with no warning bats me upside the head with one of his giant paws. He nearly knocks me over and I hiss at him. Standing there staring at me with his grey shifter’s eyes, he looks at the ground and whacks me again.

Oh, you’re gonna pay for that.

With a growl, I spring at him. He meets me with an open mouth and we go down in a flurry of teeth and claws. I can feel my skin ripping as he bites and scratches, but I don’t care because I’m too busy tearing and clawing him. Our fight ends when he pins me beneath his bigger and heavier body.

It’s no different than usual. I quit struggling and lie there, panting, my tail beating the ground in aggravation.

Sullivan whuffs and gets off of me. He shifts back to himself as I climb to my feet.

“Nice first shift, little brother.” Sullivan grins.

My chest swells with pride and a low purr slips from my throat.

“But I wouldn’t be expecting an ‘A’ for that shift, if I were you. Principal’s office is more likely what you’re gonna get. Not only is a panther a long way from a golden retriever, it’s also an illegal shape for minors – you know that.”

I feel my body sag as his words sink in.

Crap. My parents are gonna kill me.


© 2010 by Roh Morgon. All rights reserved.

roh morgon @ Wednesday, 15 September 2010 12:06 am
Comments (15)

~tomorrow’s blogfest and upcoming writers’ conference!

OMG – it’s almost here!

I have been so slammed lately with real-world stuff that almost everything relating to writing (including this blog) has been rudely shoved into a gloomy corner.

And that’s how I feel when I can’t make the time to write or blog – GLOOMY! And pissy, cranky, crabby – you name it. I love to write and really enjoy blogging. Not being able to do either takes some of the purpose out of my days…

BUT – tomorrow is the BACK-TO-SCHOOL BLOGFEST!!!

I’m so excited – and I’m thrilled at the number of participants who’ve signed up! I can’t wait to read everyone’s entries. It’s a good thing I stretched the ‘fest over four days, because I want to read each and every story.

The other thing I’m excited about is that I’m attending the Central Coast Writers Conference this weekend, and guess who the keynote speaker is!

Nathan Bransford! Uber-agent for Curtis Brown, Ltd!

Nathan has the coolest blog full of great advice for writers – I encourage you to check it out if you’re not a regular reader.

He’s also presenting one workshop session called: Getting Published: Let’s Play Query Letter Mad Lib – and I was lucky enough to get a seat in this! The timing couldn’t be more perfect for me. I am beyond excited…

Hope to run into some other West Coast writers from the blogosphere while at the conference. I’ll give a full report when I get back.

Off to do my homework for school tomorrow…

roh morgon @ Tuesday, 14 September 2010 5:23 am
Comments (3)

~Fight! Fight! Fight! BLOGFEST!

Yay! It’s fight time! Thanks to J. C. over at The Fighter Writer who’s hosting the Fight! Fight! Fight! BLOGFEST! Be sure to visit her site and check out the other fighters in the ring.

I love fight scenes. I’ve been mulling over what to enter for this blogfest–I’d hoped to write something new, but just don’t have the time. Since I’ve featured a few excerpts/alternative scenes from Watcher lately, I’ve decided to give you all a taste of something a little different.

This is from the Forbidden Doorways young adult series I’m working on. The characters are Mason, a rather nasty vampire, and his reluctant partner, a shapeshifter named Crit.



“Crit, they’ll be waking soon and we are completely unprepared. Keep a watch over them ‘til I get back.”

Groaning, I nod again. I hate being there when newborns first wake up, especially if Mason’s not. But I can generally tell when it’s useless to argue with him, and this is one of those times.

He walks to the door and looks back at me.

“Don’t leave them alone or they may turn on one another. You need to be in there, now, in case they wake early.” He pauses. “And stay out of their teeth.”

Giving him a mock salute, I head to the back room as he slips through the alley door.


The darkness of the small room has an eerie feel to it. I turn the lock on the outside of the door as I walk in, then close it behind me. My leg bumps the table. I grope its surface for the flashlight and, finding it, flip it on. The beam bounces around the room, coming to rest on the graves.

Good. There’s no sign of movement yet.

Turning, I kick the floor bolt closed at the bottom of door and set the flashlight back on the table.

I shift, tissues squirming, compressing, and the bones click into place. The inky feathers feel so weird as they burst through my skin, much weirder than fur. A big shudder settles them into place, all but one that’s poking me, and I reach under a black wing with my beak and smooth it out. A second shake and I push up into the air to hover at the top of the door next to the upper latch. Wrapping a foot around the knob, I tug it and it falls into place. I drift down, then circle back up to the perch anchored into the wall near the ceiling and settle onto it to wait.

Mason better get back here soon. He should’ve let me round up dinner, like I usually do. One vamp wakening I can handle, but I don’t know about two, especially a couple. I dunno why he decided to do this– a couple is always more difficult to deal with than two people who didn’t know each other.

Sounds from below interrupt my musings and I fix an eye on the graves. Bits of soil are starting to tumble down the mound closest to the wall. Brent.

Aww, crap.

A hand shoots through the earth, startling me, and waves around in the air, then is followed by the other. They drop, and feeling the soil around them, start clawing it away as fast as possible. Brent’s torso bursts through the surface and he sits up. A squawk escapes me as I nearly fall off my perch. This stuff still creeps me out, no matter how many times I’ve seen it. Blinking, he brushes the dirt from his face and looks down at the lower half of his body that is still buried.

“Uhhh…” Black eyes wide, he panics and launches himself out of the grave. He hits the door and starts pounding on it, still making the ‘uh’ sound. After several minutes he spots the doorknob, grabs it and pulls. He keeps pulling, jerking it back and forth, but isn’t thinking enough to try and turn it. He goes back to pounding, then switches to yanking.

Lame brain in life, he’s even lamer in death.

He finally stops and looks around the room, then starts circling it mindlessly, round and round, like an animal in a cage. Which basically he is. Wonder if his brain is going to kick in at all.

A sound from the middle of the floor snatches my attention away from Brent.

Uh oh.

The soil moves and goes still for a moment, then Kelly explodes out of the mound. Brent shrieks and tries to hide in a corner as Kelly hits the door, hard. She pounds twice, grabs the knob, and gives it a single tug before trying to turn it.

Oh, bad sign. They don’t usually remember how to work doorknobs right outta the hole.

She looks closer at it, then notices the latch at the bottom of the door and starts kicking it.

No problem with her mind, which could be a big problem for us. We count on them being zombied when they first wake–it’s easier to control them. It usually takes a few days before they start to think again.

Kelly stops kicking and looks around the room. She zeroes in on Brent, who’s nose-first in the corner stepping back and forth, still making that ‘uh’ sound. In a flash she crosses the room, grabs his hair and yanks his head back.

He screams and shoves off the wall against her just as she’s opening her mouth to bite him. They both go down into the dirt, and I’m on them, beating their faces with my wings in an effort to distract them from one another.

I squawk as one them gets hold of my tail feathers and barely manage to pull myself free. I fly back up to my perch as Brent, still lying in the dirt, examines the feathers. Kelly rolls away from him then turns, seizes his arm and sinks her fangs into it. I dive down into her face and she snarls and grabs at me as I flap away.

But I’m not fast enough. She catches my wingtip and yanks me down. I hit the ground shifting and she lets go. Her surprised expression is quickly replaced by that of bloodlust at the sight of my human form. I barely shift into the wolf in time to leap to the other side of the room.

But now I’ve got Brent’s attention as well, and as the bloodlust flares in his eyes, I realize I’m in big trouble. I double-shift back to the raven and hurl myself into the air just as they both launch at me. I feel the brush of fingertips as I push higher. With great relief I settle back onto the perch. Beak open, I pant from the efforts of the last several minutes as I watch them circle below me.

Kelly studies me a moment, then suddenly springs straight up and grabs the perch. It snaps off from the wall as I take wing and she smiles at me in triumph.

This sucks. I can only stay in the air in this small of an area for so long.

A tap from outside the door is the best thing I’ve heard in awhile and I start cawing up a storm. Mason unlocks the door, then slams into it. The latches I’d installed tear through the wood as the door bursts inward and I hightail it out into the warehouse and land.

“STOP!” Mason roars.

I listen with satisfaction as first one body hits a wall, then the other. Shifting into the wolf, I race back into the room.



© 2010 Roh Morgon. All rights reserved.

roh morgon @ Monday, 30 August 2010 10:03 pm
Comments (12)

~Word Paint Blogfest!

I had decided not to commit to this blogfest, especially in light of the fact that I missed the Weather Blogfest and barely made it to the Rainy Day Blogfest (you can check out my entry here if you missed it).

But then this scene came flooding into my head, and I had to write it.

When ya gotta write, ya gotta write.

So here’s my entry for Dawn Ember’s Word Paint Blogfest – be sure to visit her site to read the other entries.

This is an alternate scene from my WIP, Watcher, the story of Sunny Martin and her struggles to survive in a personal hell from which she cannot escape.

Hope it’s been a little while since you had breakfast (or lunch).


A red river tumbles over me, creating eddies around the angles of my body. I lift my head from the crimson flow, gasping, choking, as I struggle to escape its sticky clutches. My arms claw the air in vain, and when I open my eyes, all I can see is a wall of blood bearing down on me. As it crushes me, shoving me deeper and deeper into the thick torrent, I scream.

I’m still screaming as I climb from the coma-like sleep that the sun forces upon me every morning. The horror coursing through me is nothing compared to the hunger burning through my veins. It rips through my belly into my throat, its fiery need sending waves of agony into my very soul.

Nicolas appears next to the bed, concern etching his brow.

“Oh, Nicolas! What’s happening to me?!” I cry as I fling myself into his arms.

“Sshh, my sweet. It is just a blooddream.” He strokes my hair, as though calming a frightened horse. My body responds, as it always does to him, and begins to relax.

He eases me back, his eyes searching mine, and asks, “Haven’t you had them before?”

“No,” I whisper. “Never.”

His silence tells me this is unusual, and I can visualize the checklist in his head as he adds another item to the list of my oddities.

The hunger flashes through me, reminding me that it will never let me go. I press myself tight against his chest, and as he wraps his arms around me, I know he’ll never let me go, either.

It’s a heavy price for his love, and sometimes I wonder how long I can pay it.


© 2010 Roh Morgon. All rights reserved.

roh morgon @ Friday, 27 August 2010 9:34 am
Comments (20)

~Rainy Day Blogfest and this week’s musical treat – 25 august 2010

(special note – today is a nine-day for those who care about such things!)

It’s kinda hard to think about rain right now. It’s over 100° F  outside and temps are expected to reach 103° by this evening. Not a cloud in the sky…

But today is the Rainy Day Blogfest, hosted by Christine at The Writer’s Hole, so to help remember what it’s like to be cool and damp, I’m featuring a short excerpt from my WIP Watcher. We join Sunny just after she’s had ‘dinner’ and is feeling content for a change.

To help set the mood, here’s a quiet little piano tune by Justin St. Charles and Nine Inch Nails:

It starts to sprinkle as I run along the shoreline of Lake Cachuma. I don’t care. Being wet doesn’t bother me and neither does the cold. In fact, sometimes I find the cold invigorating. Warmth, on the other hand, is quite pleasurable, especially on the inside after a hot meal. Warm days are great too, if I can protect my skin from the direct sun, which isn’t easy. People look at you funny when you’re wearing a long-sleeved turtleneck and gloves and it’s 90 degrees outside.

Jogging back to the BMW, I catch the scent of wild pig and veer off to follow it. Pigs are tough to kill because they’re so low to the ground and their barrel-shaped bodies are difficult to grip. Their necks are short and stout – breaking them is not very feasible. And they have tusks, right near my target area. I did kill one once, though, a young adult, and I thoroughly enjoyed his buttery-sweet blood.

Scent trails are easier to follow when the weather’s damp. I detect several now and slow as the scents become stronger. Weaving through the bushes, I freeze – foraging along a marshy area are three adult females and six babies. I watch for a moment, then melt into the brush.

That is one thing I will not do. I will not kill mothers or babies – of any species.

Retracing my steps, I pick up my trail again and continue on to the car. Between the deer and my twenty-mile run, I’m finally relaxed, and I smile from the sheer joy of being in the woods.

The sprinkling has turned to rain, and I stop and lift my face to the sky. I rejoice as the drops hit and trail down my cheeks, and open my mouth to see if I can feel them on the inside as well. Rain dances across the leaves and rocks in a liquid ballet, and I listen as each drop makes its own music, creating a soft woodland symphony.

Laughing, I shake my head, flinging water off my hair to add to the concert, and take off running again.

© 2010 Roh Morgon. All rights reserved.


roh morgon @ Wednesday, 25 August 2010 4:14 pm
Comments (17)

~announcing: Back-to-School Daze Blogfest!


I’ve decided that I really like them.

They give me a chance to visit other blogs and discover new writers that I enjoy.

And they force me to write–something short and sweet, something without the emotional investment and time commitment of a novel.

Blogfests allow me to play in my WIP if I’m in the mood, by either reprinting a scene already written, or creating a side story for a minor character.

But they also give me the freedom to write about something completely different, a way to step foot into another world. And if it’s a world I find intriguing once I’m in it, I may explore it more fully in future works.

So in honor of the blogfest, which in reality is a form of writing exercise, I’m going to host my first one.

In fact, I’m not only hosting one, I’m going to jump in with both feet and host TWO.

The first one is in honor of the month of September, the month when the heat of summer fades and the cool, crisp air of fall begins to creep in.

It’s also the month many schools start their year after summer break (although some jump the gun and start in August).

I’m calling it:

September’s Back-to-School Daze Blogfest

Your assignment?

Write a scene that takes place on a campus. It can be in a classroom, on the football field, in a locker room… (grin – but nothing explicit, please!) – just as long as the setting is on school grounds.

That’s it. Keep it short – 999 words is a nice length, but if you go a LITTLE over, I won’t slap your knuckles with a ruler. :)

AND – if you’re late to class, I won’t send you to the principal’s office. In honor of those of us who are always tardy, I’m running the blogfest through Saturday, September 18 to give everyone a chance to contribute and time to visit all the blogs. However, you must sign up on or before the blogfest date of September 15.

Oh, and please spread the wordcopy the banner at the top to paste on your blog and link back to this page so that visitors can read the other entries. I’m sure there are some GREAT school stories out there!

I also ask that you leave comments on the blogs you visit. Let the writers know their works are being read – they’ll appreciate the time you take to acknowledge their efforts.

September’s Back-to-School Daze Blogfest date: Wednesday, September 15, 2010.

You can sign up with the Mr. Linky thingy below.


But – before you go any further, make note of my second blogfest.

It’s taking place on October 23, 2010, and is called:

October’s Monster Mash Blogfest

The title should tell you all you need to know for now, so mark your calendar – I’ll announce more about it as we get a little closer to the date.


That said, here’s the sign-up for September’s Back to School Daze Blogfest:

roh morgon @ Wednesday, 18 August 2010 10:50 pm
Comments (44)

~Blogfest of Death

Well, due to some unusual circumstances, I was unable to post my contribution to Tessa’s Blogfest of Death yesterday. But it was too cool of a ‘fest to pass up, so here’s my entry, albeit just a tad late. This is an alternate scene to one in my current WIP:


“Are you ready?” Janos lifts a corner of his lip, a sneer accenting the demonic hunger shining through crimson eyes. His thick blond ponytail drags across the back of his broad shoulders as he turns his head to look at me. The trembling young woman hugs herself as she settles deeper into the couch, away from where he stands over her, like a golden lion looming above his prey.

Standing between the two burly bouncers, I try to wrench free, but the steel fists trapping my arms only grow tighter. I pause, panting in fury, then lunge at the shorter guard, my teeth bared and reaching for his throat. A hand clamps around the back of my neck and lifts me off the ground. Cold breath against my ear sends icicles of fear down my spine.

“Ahh-ahh-ahh, Steven. Not too rough. We can’t damage our little traitor–remember?” Janos warns in his silky growl.

“Traitor?!” I spat as my feet meet the ground. “Me, the traitor? You’re the traitor, you and Éva and the others. Nicolas is–“

“Nicolas is no longer here, or haven’t you noticed?” Janos snarls. “And that’s your fault, you ball-busting bitch. Someone had to step in to run things when you left him unmanned and holed-up in his estate. But then, that was your plan all along, wasn’t it? Seduce and distract him to keep him from noticing the enemy incursions into our territory.”

He steps toward me, hatred blazing out of those red eyes. His expression shifts as he reaches out to smooth back my hair and I tense, still immobilized by the hand gripping my neck. The lust blossoming on Janos’ face is far more frightening than the hate, and I cringe as his hand moves down my cheek. It lingers a moment, tracing the silvery scars it finds there, then trails down to caress my breasts. I fight the impulse to struggle, knowing it will trigger him, but I can’t help myself. He growls and moves, lighting-quick, and as his icy lips touch my jaw, a roar rips from my throat. My teeth snap on empty air as he jerks back and grins.

“Oh, little kitten. You would be so much fun. Perhaps I can persuade Éva to let me have you for awhile before she rips off your head.” He turns and saunters back over to the terrified woman on the couch.

“Now, where were we? Oh, yes…dinner. Come, my sweet. I have something special for you.” Janos reaches out to brush her dark hair back from a face that looks disturbingly like my own. Her blue eyes glance at mine, unable to disguise her fear, as his hand drifts down to wait, empty, for hers. Quivering, she places her hand in his and he guides her to a stand.

“Unfortunately, sweet thing, I’m all out of Nicolas’ special ‘liqueur’, so I’m afraid this will be much more pleasant for me than for you.” A soft whimper escapes her lips as he draws her close. The hunger flaring anew in his eyes, he tips his head and smiles at me. His eyes stay locked on mine as he slowly turns her around, and with her back to him now, he wraps one arm around her waist. He yanks her tight against him and she cries out again, louder this time. Her ineffective thrashing to escape only intensifies the excitement animating his face as he breathes into her hair and growls. The thugs, momentarily distracted by the macabre performance, tighten their grip on me when I take advantage and try to squirm free.

“You son-of-a-bitch…is this really necessary?” I snarl as numbing pain spreads up and down my arms from the vise-like holds.

“Don’t tell me you have Nicolas’ weakness for such as this.” Janos leans back and combs his fingers through the dark strands. “I’ve always thought his efforts to make it pleasurable for them were a waste. I mean, what’s the point? And his edict against killing them? That’s against our very nature. We are, after all, the superior species, you and I.”

“We are nothing alike. What you are is despicable, worse than any animal. There’s nothing superior about cruelty and murder.”

Janos laughs, the rumble in his chest ominous, then one-handed, gathers the woman’s hair and drapes it over her shoulder. I swallow at the sight of her bared throat, and Janos laughs again at my discomfort as I meet his gaze once more. Still staring at me, he lowers his face to that porcelain flesh and nuzzles the softness there. He groans, then wraps his free arm around the woman’s breasts and crushes her to him. Unable to look away, I watch, the crimson veil dropping over my vision and hunger beginning to boil in my veins. He opens his mouth and slowly sinks his fangs into her throat.

She shrieks, but he only clamps her tighter to him as he begins to draw, one mouthful after another. Disgust with his brutality rivals the desire in me to feast alongside him, and again I attempt to break free, to leave this room, to do anything but be a witness to the horror unfolding in front of me. But I might as well try to bend iron. Her screams fade to low moans as he drains the life from her, one swallow at a time. I shut my eyes to the sight of her blood trailing down from his lips, blood that is fueling my own raging hunger, but I can’t block the smell, nor the sounds of his feeding.

She gasps, and gasps again. My eyes fly open of their own accord to see her limp body hanging from his teeth and arms. Her final sigh is accompanied by his groan of triumph, and the air in the room electrifies as he drops her, throws his head back and looses a roar that shakes the very walls. He roars again, then snaps his head around to stare at me. The crimson in his irises and pupils is gone, replaced by a white so bright it nearly glows.

A shockwave of power batters me and my knees weaken as I nearly collapse from it. The bouncers waver as well, their grips relaxing as they take in their maker’s energy overflow. Reeling, I slip free of their grasps to turn and dive headfirst through the window, accompanied by shards of glass. I twist to land on my feet and hear a sound at the broken third-story window. As I leap into a run, Janos’ words drift out above me.

“Let her go. We’ve delivered our message.”

Outrage at their Game-playing fuels my feet, and as I blur towards my car, a snarl tears from my throat.

I will pay you back, you bastard, for betraying Nicolas, and for this poor girl’s unnecessary death, hers and the countless others before and after. And when I’m done with you, you’ll wish you were mortal and will beg me for a mortal’s end.


© 2010 by Roh Morgon. All rights reserved.

roh morgon @ Monday, 19 July 2010 10:15 pm
Comments (8)

~contests and blogfests!

I just found out about a contest being hosted by a new follower of my blog, Bekah at Bekah’s Stories.  It’s called the Worst. Query. Ever. Write IT! The entries are hilarious – you should check them out. I had a lot of fun writing mine, which was totally off the top of my head. If you’re feeling a little blocked or frustrated, participating in this exercise may unlock your muse and help bring a little humor into your day. Contest deadline: August 1, 2010

Another interesting blog event, hosted by Tessa at Tessa’s Blurb, is called The Blogfest of Death:

The title alone got my attention. Here’s what it’s about (as quoted from her blog):

Kill someone.

(a fictional someone, pretty please)

To learn more (and have an excuse to off someone as a writing exercise), visit Tessa’s blog. Blogfest date: Sunday, July 18, 2010.

And don’t forget, the deadline for my Character Contest #1 is fast approaching

roh morgon @ Monday, 12 July 2010 10:22 am
Comments (4)

~blogging events & successful blogging

I recently discovered blogging contests, blogfests, blogchains – all sorts of fun ways to express oneself and discover new blogs to become addicted to.  And, of course, opportunities to expand one’s own readership.

I’ve participated in a few now. My favorites were the AW Musical Blog Chain – because I both love and write to music – and the Bad Boy Blogfest, because, well, you know…

But early on in my discovery of this new facet of blogging I decided to hold my own contest (Roh’s Character Contest #1). I dilligently constructed the rules, purchased the prizes, and notified the few bloggers I know that I was doing such a thing.

But what I failed to do was get the word out adequately, and my entry numbers were less than I’d hoped for.

I’m still learning this blogging thing, and have finally figured some of what the successful bloggers have in common:

1)  They post every day

2)  They all have a great sense of humor (or at least a wry wit)

3)  Their posts are almost always educational or devoted to information sharing in some way

4)  They frequently pose questions to their readers that encourage further information sharing

5)  They link to other blogs that they reference – and they almost always reference other blogs, especially if they’re doing #3 above

6)  They participate in blogging events (contests, blogfests, etc) to a degree – some more than others

7)  They acknowledge their commenters in some way – via individual or group thanks, blog references, etc.

So, in analyzing these commonalities, I can see where I need to focus my efforts. Item #1 is pretty critical and has been a failure of epic proportions on my part. I’m going to skip the rest, because it’s pretty obvious I need to work on these (although I’ve been doing #7 as much as possible).

As for today’s post, I’m going to Item #4 and pose a question:

What other elements have you seen consistently in successful blogs? Which ones do you have trouble implementing and which ones do you currently use?

(And yes, I realize my posts need to be shorter.  *snort*)

roh morgon @ Thursday, 24 June 2010 11:54 pm
Comments (1)

~The “Let’s Talk” Blogfest and dialog excerpt from Watcher

Fiction Groupie is holding an event called the “Let’s Talk” Blogfest. Participants sign up on her blog, then post a dialog excerpt from their WIP on their own blog.

I heard about this from Chris (one of my friends from FSFW) and immediately thought, “I have the perfect scene. I was just working on it.”

Thanks, Chris, for the heads up!

And without further ado, here is a scene from Watcher (oh, and today is a nine-day, BTW!):


The first thing I become conscious of is that whatever I’m lying on is not hard.  I cautiously reach out, expecting to feel air, but instead touch softness and fabric.

I open my eyes open and lift my head to look around.  A bed, my bed.  Not a tree branch.

Or maybe it is still a dream, I realize, as I turn and see Nicolas stretched out next to me, leaning on his elbow with his head propped up on his hand.

“Good morning,” he says in a low musical voice, his emerald eyes shining.

As before, words stick in my throat, unable to escape. So this must be a dream after all.

He reaches out and brushes back the hair from my face, then softly strokes my lips.

But that felt pretty real.

He shifts, then leans over and kisses me on the mouth.

Oh, this is definitely real.

I feel my body respond, and then he is crushing me to him.  He holds me tight for a long moment, then slowly releases me and leans back.  He reaches out again and starts working the tangles from my hair with his fingers.

“I was unable to comb all of these out earlier, as you were sleeping on this side.”

“You carried me off the mountain,” I croak, my voice finally breaking free.

“I did,” he says quietly as he continues to pick at my hair.

“You are here.”

“I am.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since the night you left.  A month ago.”  The pain beneath his words is unmistakeable.

“A month? I’ve been gone a month?”

It’s all a blur of mountains and forests, lakes and meadows, blood and more blood.

He purses his lips, but does not answer. His green eyes watch my face as I feel the wilderness sing in my soul.  He touches my cheek, jarring me back to the present.

“You waited here,” I whisper. “All that time. For me.”

“Yes. I could do…nothing else.” Again I hear the pain, accompanied by loneliness, and wonder how he survived.

Because the only way I did was to give myself to the blood and to the wild.

Once more it calls, and I shut my eyes and remember the colors and smells that caressed my senses, and the wind that softly brushed my skin. Life is so simple out there.  Hunt and run and swim and sleep.  No complicated emotions to manage, no one to argue with, or be disappointed in, or be embraced by, or be loved by.

My eyes grow damp as tears begin to well up beneath their closed lids.

“Sunny.”  His voice is calm and soothing. Feather-light fingers again touch my face.

Startled, my eyes fly open. Yes, he is still here. This is not a dream.

But I need to move, to stretch, to run. My body’s not used to being so still for so long. Slipping out of the bed, I back across the room, watching him. He gets up as well, and part of me starts to panic. I turn to the closet, take out a pair of  jeans and a sweater, and slip them on.  I don’t need shoes–quit wearing them weeks ago.

“I need to go,” I whisper to the floor on my way out.

“Will you come back?” he asks, his voice strained.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” I take a long, slow breath. “Yes. I just need…a little more time.”

Turning, I head for the back door. As I open it, I hear him in the doorway behind me.

“I’ll be here,” he says.

I breathe deeply and step outside, inhaling the pine and other scents that make up the forest, and take off up the mountain at a dead run.

roh morgon @ Wednesday, 19 May 2010 8:28 am
Comments (9)