roh morgon

~ musings of a moonlight writer

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.

When I saw the Bad Boy Blogfest hosted by Tina Lynn at Sweet Niblets (and thanks for the heads up, Roni!), I knew I had to participate. Can’t help it – just love the bad boys. I also knew exactly who I would serve up as my offering to the altar of badness.

Meet Janos, from my WIPs, Watcher and Runner:

~~~~~~~~~

The Monster’s Growl

©2010 Roh Morgon

Carly buried her face against the broad, leather-coated back, the night wind snatching at her hair and ripping tears from her eyes. The thunder of the black Harley drowned out even her thoughts as Janos twisted the throttle to pass a line of traffic. The bike lunged forward and she tightened her grip around him while red taillights streamed by at lightning speed. Blinding headlights flashed off the big bike’s mirrors as they shot past the cars and leaned back into their lane.

Adrenalin pumping through her in rhythm with the engine as they sped down the highway, Carly thought back to earlier in the evening.

~~~

The big blond biker was the hottest thing that ever walked into the little bar on the edge of town. When he sauntered over and put his quarters on their pool table, he altered everyone’s game. Marsha grew quiet and began playing serious for a change, and Deb lost her bored-with-everything attitude, shooting as though her life depended upon it. The clack of the balls against one another was the only sound that broke the desperate silence in their little corner of the bar.

But Carly managed to beat them both, and when the biker shoved his quarters into the table slot, her heart stopped. He straightened, his chest and shoulders straining against the black t-shirt beneath his denim cutoff vest, and she realized that all three of the girls–herself included–were holding their breath. None of them could take their eyes from him as he racked, his arm muscles rippling while he deftly flipped the balls into their proper places. When he pulled the rack off, his steel blue eyes looked up into hers. She nearly dropped her pool cue.

“Are you ready?” he asked, a mysterious smile playing about his full lips.

She gulped and nodded, then proceeded to shoot the worst game of her life. She couldn’t quit staring at his biceps as he shot nor his chiseled face framed by shoulder-length blond hair. The excited whispers of Marsha and Deb behind her only made it worse. And when it was her turn–forget it. Even though he stood silent, holding his stick in front of him as he watched her attempt to shoot, her awareness of him and his quiet confidence completely blew her focus. She missed shot after shot, and it seemed like only a matter of minutes had passed before he called the pocket and sunk the eight-ball.

But all thoughts of losing evaporated when he asked her if she’d like to go for a ride. She didn’t even hesitate as she stammered her acceptance. She barely had enough presence of mind to turn, weakly smile, and wave to her friends as he held the front door open for her.

Carly stood back and watched, wide-eyed, as he gathered his hair into a ponytail and shrugged on his black leather jacket. He straddled the big chopper and with one powerful kick, the metal beast roared to life, startling her with its throaty growl. The deep pounding of the pistons as it idled both excited and scared her, but not as much as Janos’ smile as he invited her to climb on behind him.

She struggled onto the rumbling machine and was shocked at the vibration drumming between her legs. Having nothing else to hang onto, she gingerly placed her hands on the sides of his waist. He reached down, grabbed her arms, and wrapped them tightly around him.

“Are you ready?” he yelled over his shoulder, a half-smile tugging at his full lips.

She nodded and he grinned, revving the bike several times. He reached down by his leg, yanked the shifter, and the metallic monster lurched into flight. She clung to him, thrilled and terrified at the same time, as he raced through the gears, each shift threatening to tear her from her precarious seat. She became lost in the storm of their passage as her world shrunk to the sound of Harley thunder and the rush of the clawing wind.

~~~

Carly shook her head as she questioned her rash decision. She’d never done anything this impulsive before. She usually had trouble just giving a guy her phone number. But to leave with a guy she’d barely met? Not like her. Not like her at all. She smiled at the thrill that ran through her as she contemplated her ride on the wild side. Maybe that’s because no one this intriguing had ever asked her before.

The rumble of the engine slowed its tempo as Janos braked to turn off the highway onto a dark country road. Carly felt the first stirrings of doubt as he guided the bike through a series of lonely, tree-lined curves. After several miles, he downshifted again and turned into an unlit driveway. As the pulsing gallop of the engine echoed into the night, her heartbeat sped up, half in anticipation and half in fear. He pulled up in front of a darkened house, shut off the engine, and leaned the bike onto its kickstand. The silence that assaulted her ears was almost painful after the incessant roar of the big Harley.

Her nerves stretched taut as Janos made no further movement. The engine and pipes snapped and popped in the languid air as they cooled, and with a creak of his leathers, he finally stirred. He patted her arms that were still clamped around his waist, and feeling stupid, she released her death grip on him. He stood and shifted forward, allowing her to set a foot onto the ground and swing her other leg over the back of the bike.

She hugged herself and moved back as he dismounted and pulled his leather gloves off. Without another word, he turned and walked up the porch steps. Carly glanced around into the encroaching night , then biting her lip, followed him. He was holding the door open, waiting for her. The mysterious look in his eyes had been replaced with something else–something primeval. But instead of this scaring her, it triggered images of him naked above her. Electricity running through her veins, she quickened her pace and walked past him into the dark house.

Carly flinched at the loud snap of a switch and the dim yellow glare from an overhead light. As she turned to look at Janos, he smiled and walked up to her. He reached out and smoothed her hair, his blue eyes locked onto hers. She felt helpless in the steely fire of his gaze and offered no resistance as he began to undress her.

Stepping back from his handiwork, he stood and thoughtfully surveyed her naked body. As his eyes reached hers, she recoiled at the raw hunger in his expression. Darts of fear shot up her spine as his once-blue eyes changed color, becoming blood red.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his broad smile revealing the deadly fangs behind those full lips.

Her scream shattered the quiet of the night as the cooling Harley settled into silence.

~~~~~~~~~

Yay! It’s finally my turn on the Absolute Write May Musical Blog Chain. There’s something to be said for being last!

Aheïla started the chain with the question, “What does your story/character(s) sound like?” She offered the following guidelines: “You can take this from any angle: what do you listen to when you write, which song summarizes your story the best, etc.”

Hmm. Well, for me, the best place to start is at the beginning.

I woke up one morning with a character in my head showing me her lonely existence on the fringes of human society. As Sunny unveiled her story, I became obsessed in the efforts to write it down. That might not sound unusual, except I’d never written anything before.

That was the beginning of a new chapter in my life, which quickly narrowed down to night after night of manic writing, generally getting only 2-4 hours of sleep before heading off to work the next day. Watcher became my life as the story poured incessantly into my head.

During that five, very unreal months, I discovered how much music – always a big part of my life – enhanced my writing. I initially wrote to wordless instrumental songs…

Well, I must confess. It was actually the Twilight score – not the popular soundtrack, but the haunting background music by Carter Burwell. It provided the eerie feel of the nonhuman creatures I was writing about, with both soft romantic interludes and violent crescendos that matched the scenes playing in my head.

Then my son introduced me to Nine Inch Nails. I was familiar with a couple of their popular songs, but though a longtime Tool fan, I’d never paid much attention to NIN. My son filled my new iPod with NIN and I discovered a depth to Trent Reznor’s music that went way beyond Closer (the ‘animal’ song).

As I was editing Watcher, I kept finding track after track of quiet and deeply emotional music by NIN. I discovered even more on the NIN remix site.

Trent Reznor, ever rebellious, makes his music available for fans to download, remix, and upload – in fact, he not only encourages it, but uploads his own remixes as well. What makes this phenomenal is that not only is it available to the public, but it’s all free as long as all the artists are credited and no one profits from it.

My ‘soundtrack’ for Watcher consists of dozens of songs and I’m constantly on the lookout for more. But what I’ve done for this post is to list the songs that are tied to a few of the more important scenes in the book. Many of them are Nine Inch Nails in origin, but there are also a few Incubus songs on this list – their mood and lyrics seem particularly suited to this story.

But before you begin, I need to add one little tidbit about some of the weirdness that entered my life while writing the story of Sunny and Nicolas.

The novel was almost complete when I discovered a song that sent chills down my spine. Why? Because the singer was singing about Nicolas – my Nicolas – who had been hammering his story at me for the last half a year. The song is called Sleeping with a Vampyre by Brigitte Handley and The Dark Shadows. It not only describes his physical appearance perfectly, but his behavior and attitude as well. It really creeped me out. Still does. Makes me wonder how many women he visits in their dreams…

You can listen to it here:

So that said, I invite you on a brief journey of Watcher through music that expresses the rollercoaster of emotions in this story. If you don’t have much time to listen to all of them, then at least listen to the theme song for Watcher. It’s called Leavin’ Hope, Still and is a Nine Inch Nails remix by Justin St.Charles. This is a sad but beautiful instrumental love song which, to me, is a perfect tribute to Sunny and Nicolas.  It’s Track #4 on the main player.

~~~~~~~~~

Be sure to check out the other participants in the AW May Musical Blog Chain. They all use and relate to music differently in their writings and offer a wonderful variety of music samples:

Actually, not only is reading your work aloud permissable, you should consider making it a mandatory part of your writing and editing process.

It’s part of mine. When I’m ‘combing’ through passages looking for errors, I’m also seeking rhythm and flow. The best way for me to find it is to read the passage out loud.

It surprises me how different it can sound–and how my tongue will trip over a missing word that my mind is sure was there just a second ago. Words that I used two paragraphs back suddenly shout at me, saying, “Yo! I just had my turn! Use someone else!”

Reading a paragraph out loud will help me avoid sentence structures that repeat themselves as though fired from a Gatling gun, or combinations that are singsong, morphing into some bizarre nursery rhyme.

My voice helps me to find the cadence of the scene, to rearrange words and build sentences that reflect the emotion of the moment, and my ears tell me when something just plain doesn’t work.

I never release my writing to the outer world without reading it out loud, beginning to end, multiple times. It doesn’t matter if it’s a business letter, my blog, or a fiction piece that may or may not be complete. For me, it’s the last vet check before the gate opens and the horse bearing my words races down the track.

So when I was asked if I would like to read a scene or two from Watcher during the open-mike session of a poetry reading, I had no hesitation.

It was in Davis, California, and it was at the monthly Poetry Night held on the first Wednesday of the month at the Bistro 33 on F Street.

While in town on business, I called my friend, Sharon, who is doing some editing work for me, and asked about getting together. She kindly invited me join her for dinner with a few other friends on Poetry Night, and it was then that she asked if I would like to read from Watcher.

I knew immediately that the opening cemetery scene contained enough emotion and imagery for a verbal ‘performance’ –for that is what it really is when you read your work aloud for an audience. But I was unsure of which passage to read for the second half of my five minutes of fame. I practiced a few the evening before the dinner, intending to consult with Sharon before making the final choice.

As it turned out, several of the dinner friends actually run the Poetry Night. Dr. Andy Jones and Brad Henderson are both University of California Davis literature professors and well-known local poets. The other dinner guests, besides Sharon and me, were the featured poets of Poetry Night. Susan Wolbarst and Allegra Silberstein are accomplished and published poets, and in 2010, Allegra was named the first Poet Laureate of the City of Davis.

So I was in pretty distinguished company and was suddenly more than a little intimidated by the ears and judgments of the people I would be reading to. But Sharon reassured me (she is a huge fan of Watcher) and together we made the decision on which passages I would read. One, of course, was the cemetery scene. But the other was one I had not practiced the night before. Yet it was another scene with enough vivid imagery that I felt it would read well, and so I took the chance and read it unpracticed.

But it wasn’t really unpracticed. Because when I wrote it, and during the dozens of editing sessions that I’ve subjected Watcher to, I read it out loud. Over and over again. Granted, the last time I’d read it was probably four or five months prior to Poetry Night. But it was well-vetted verbally, and I knew this horse would fly smoothly down the track.

As I listened to the poets and other performers, I blocked all thoughts of my impending time in front of the mike, refusing to give into the nervousness that I knew was lurking. And when I stepped up on the stage and began reading, I forced myself to stay calm and read slowly, and let the horse I’d trained have a little bit of rein.

The words flowed in that cadence I’d schooled them into, and the scene maintained its emotional rhythm throughout its run. And I believe the audience caught a good glimpse of Sunny’s pain as she watched her daughter place flowers on her empty grave.

I took a deep breath and turned to the marked page of the second scene. And as I began to read of falling snowflakes, fluffy cushions of downy white, and the unpainting of nature’s colorful forest canvas, I could feel Sunny’s amazement and joy, and I can only hope some of that was able to reach the audience through my voice.

As I left the stage to the appreciative sound of more-than-just-polite applause, I smiled as I realized that I had just read excerpts from a vampire novel (the dark stepchild of popular fiction) to a group of poetry lovers who likely had no idea that the subject in the scenes lived on blood.

And surprisingly, I wasn’t embarrassed by what I’d read or how I’d read it. I was proud of it, in spite of the fact that admitting I write vampire fiction is a bit embarrassing itself. And I believe I felt that way about my performance because I’ve been practicing those scenes for my own ears for well over a year now.

So not only am I suggesting you read your work aloud during both the writing and the editing phases, I recommend you look for opportunities to read it aloud for others. You may discover something important about your work, and you may find a renewed sense of faith in what you are putting on the page.

Watcher Weirdness.

That’s what we started calling it after awhile. I’m not sure when the oddities actually began. They could’ve been there all along, trying, but failing, to get my attention.

The first one that I can distinctly recall happened several months after I started writing, and had to do with Sunny’s name.

I’m not sure why that name popped into my head when I was searching for a name for her. There was never any other. I tried to change it several times. After all, it seemed a pretty silly name for a creature of darkness. But she wouldn’t give it up, so I let her keep it while in the back of my mind I searched for another.

March 18, 2009, I stopped fighting it.

Catherine Hardwicke, the director of the movie Twilight, was scheduled to appear that day at a Wal-Mart in Lancaster as part of a publicity tour. She’d just released her memoirs in a wonderfully-organic little book called Twilight Director’s Notebook: The Story of How We Made The Movie.

Being an avid fan of both the Twilight book series and the movie, I made the three-hour drive to the desert city. Like several hundred other fans there, I bought my books (yes, several as gifts for friends) and dutifully waited in line for Catherine’s arrival.

It was while I was sitting in line chatting with the people around me that I saw Sunny’s name. It was printed on a Wal-Mart security badge, and hung around the neck of an attractive dark-haired young woman who seemed to be somewhat in charge. Whether she actually was or not, I don’t recall, because at that moment, the only important thing to me was – that name.

S-U-N-N-Y. Spelled exactly the way I’d been spelling it. I’ve wondered since then if it was short for Sunshine, like the character who had taken over my life.

But there it was, in big, bold letters, appearing to me out of nowhere at a time when I was most determined to change her name.

My first reaction was mild shock. But the more I thought about it, the weirder it seemed to get. Because it wasn’t just that it appeared at a time crucial to the writing of Watcher. It appeared, surrounded by vampire-lovers, at an event celebrating one of the most-cherished vampire stories ever made into book or film.

It is really odd when you think about it.

After several minutes of stunned contemplation, I just looked up into the air and said, “Alright. I get it. Your name is Sunny. I’ll stop trying to change it.”

I’m sure she was laughing at me, glad she didn’t have to beat me over the head with it. Which she kinda did.

When I tried to rationalize her name, to explain why she had such a name, I suddenly understood why that was the best name for her.

Belonging now to the night, she clung to her birth name as a reminder of her human life, to symbolize that even in darkness there can be light.

Sure wish she’d explained that earlier.

Anyhow, that is the story of how Sunny got, and kept, her name.

And, that is the first example of what I call ‘Watcher Weirdness.’

Stay tuned to the blog – I have plenty more, and some of them are really weird.

I suppose if I’m going to tell the story of telling a story, I should start at the beginning.

One year ago, in December 2008, I heard an interview with the author of a popular book series. When asked who she wrote her story for, she said she wrote it for herself.

That statement flipped a switch somewhere inside me. And so I decided to write a story for me, about beings I’d long been fascinated with – vampires.

At least I thought I was writing it for myself.

The first words to hit the page stunned me. They spoke of the pain of an undead creature as she watched a family she could no longer be part of. They went on to describe how she struggled with her violent nature, held in check only by memories of her daughter, and how she lived with the loneliness of her dangerous secret.

And so Sunny was born. She didn’t have a name then, because all I wrote that December was a one-page preface. The holidays were in full swing, my family was gathering for a long-overdue reunion, and there was no time to write. I reluctantly put her story on hold until after the first of the year. Fortunately she was content with that and allowed me to enjoy my family time.

But when January came around, Sunny came back into my life, and she brought others with her. Together they began insisting I tell their story, invading my thoughts all hours of the day as well as the night. I slept very little back then, averaging only 2-4 hours a night while still trying to hold down a full-time job.

Weekends were even worse. I’d start writing Friday night when I got home after work, recording their story until they released me to crawl into bed just before sunrise. I was usually back up by 8 or 9 Saturday morning to start again. I’d write all day, taking few breaks, and on into the night until sometime near dawn. Sunday would be a repeat of Saturday, writing almost non-stop. Fortunately, because I had to get up and go to work the next morning, they allowed me to go to bed a little earlier on Sunday nights – most of the time.

This went on for five months. At the end of May, over Memorial Weekend, I finished the end of the first draft. I still had a couple of early chapters to flesh out, but as far as I was concerned, I was done.

Sunny and Nicolas had other ideas. A week later they pushed me to continue with their story in the second book of the series. I wrote about 25,000 words before they let me stop. But they didn’t stop. Shifting their attention back to Watcher, the pressure I’ve felt to edit and prepare it for publication has been relentless.

And so it continues. I’m hoping to have all the fine-tuning for Watcher complete by the end of the year. I’ve submitted to two agents that I met at writer’s conferences, and will begin submitting to more in January if I haven’t heard anything by then.

Friends are helping me with artwork and website management. I’m slowly building my online presence, including learning how to blog. This all takes so much time, yet I can do nothing else but press forward.

Because their need to have their story known…is every bit as strong as the need they are known for.

So if anyone wants to know what it’s like to be seduced and have your life taken over by vampires, I can tell them. Because mine has, and just like in the legends, the dark gift has its good points, and its bad.