Featured Author: D.F. Matthews

FTLOW: So tell us about yourself.

D.F. Matthews: Hmmm...Not a subject I am very fond of. Where shall I start? Well, as you can tell from my author picture there I am an enigma wrapped in mystery dressed in a riddle with the socks of a puzzle and a bow tie of blatant deception and a top hat of wonderment. I'm not at liberty to speak to much as I don't want to place those I care for at risk. You see those who lack imagination desire to capture me and use my brain as a buffet...much like the ones in Vegas where you can get king crab legs for four dollars and a subsequent case of food poisoning later on.

FTLOW: What rituals do you have before you write?

D.F. Matthews: Music has been a great catalyst for me personally...although I guess it can't be impersonally for me, can it? Anyhoo, I suppose my music selections are as diverse as my writing is. From Jay-Z to Kings of Leon to Dream Theater to Bjork to Danny Elfman and many more that I choose not to mention at the moment. I switch stories the same way from evil, not female hamsters bent on world domination to being trapped in my own mind with your emotions as actual people and monsters to one eyed rabbits who takes on the role of protector for a girl who embodies the soul of a distant world's deceased princess. But then again I may have said too much already. *shiftily looks over non-descript male or female shoulder*

FTLOW: What inspired you to write?

D.F. Matthews: A lifetime of reading I guess. I read anything I could get my hands on and it proceeded to warp my spongy mind. My library growing up wasn't well stocked, but reading material was thrust upon me all the time. I read entire set of encyclopedias, and every Sunday I read the funny pages. I loved Calvin and Hobbes!! Something about a boy living out his life in pure imagination that...appeals to me. Wonder why? Hmmm...mysteries. From there it went to R.L. Stine, then Stephen King and Dean Koontz, with comics mixed in-between. I was also influenced by a lot of movies. I grow up on The Godfather, Aliens, Terminator and Star Wars all at the tender age of seven. Yes...demented...but then I suppose I've said too much.

FTLOW: When did you begin to write?

D.F. Matthews: I started writing at the age of nine. Nothing terribly eloquent, just a fake newscast set in the land of Looney Toons. You know, like police being on the manhunt for the roadrunner because he dropped yet another boulder onto the poor creature’s head. Don’t judge me I was nine. However I’ve always felt compelled to write. Too much Seuss and television I say. Not that that’s a bad thing.

FTLOW: What genre do you write? Why that one?

D.F. Matthew: Is whatever a genre?...No? Oh well, then. I write for everyone who enjoys a good story. But I suppose if had to narrow it down, for the moment I write for children, middle grade, and young adult. Still I want to create something everyone can enjoy from the parent reading the bedtime story to their children and the whole family who wants to dive into a new adventure.

FTLOW: Is there anywhere people can find your work?

D.F. Matthews: Again I really shouldn't give too much information away, but a deal is a deal and a weasel is a weasel except when it masquerades as a duck....but that's a different story. You can find my work on this blog with Plan 100. Also on WeBook. Not mention I’m about to start a new project on Figment Fiction. But the closest thing to the actual me is this handsome little doppelganger who makes a habit of posting my whereabouts and writings on Twitter and Facebook.

FTLOW: Thanks so much for your time! It's always great to meet fellow aspiring authors and thanks to everyone for reading. Be sure to check out the links above and get to know D.F. Matthews a little more.

D.F. Matthews: Well I’ve had a delightful time. So much so that I’ll entrust you with one of my favorite chapters from Beyond Here. Please, whatever you do, do not post this on the internet…unless it is for For The Love Of Writing. I have a fondness for it.

Now who is going to unstrap me from this chair? Hello? Anyone? Oh boy.

*************************************

Beyond Here: Chapter Eight

The woods to the land of Dread were as sparse and sickly as their exiled lord. Skeletal blood red trees stretched to the sky like hands reaching beyond the grave. A jaundiced moon watched over the land, casting ghastly shadows over the land. Subtle fog rolled in, mingling with the cool air.

Anger thought the crumbling ruins of the Nevagains had more charm. The sound of their pursuers nipping at their heels only added to the dreary mystique. It was more than the howling and barking; now it was the sound of their padded feet thundering along the ground. Anger was sure he heard the globs of spittle hitting the darkened soil as well.

Fear took the point on this one, this being his land it only made sense. It was hard to make out his inky figure amongst the shadows. Anger's brother strode along with a childlike glee in his step. This wouldn't be a problem if his moves weren't so noisy.

"Fear, you are a fool," he snarled. "Are you trying to bring every beast in Mother here?"

"I'm trying to hurry. Being overtaken by those things is not on my list of things to do."

Fear continued on his noisy path. For someone so frail he sure he sure made enough noise for someone ten times his bulk. With each crunch of dead leaves or a fallen branch Anger cringed. Why oh why must he be made to suffer this ignorance.

Highlighted by the yellowed moon's glare the outline of Fear's castle came to fruition through the trees. A grin played at the edges of Anger's canine mouth. Through the dark one could just make out Fear's grin as well.

"See? No problems." Fear said as he turned toward his brother.

That smile crept off his face only to be replaced with a look of his namesake. Anger halted, curved horns tingling at the sudden silence. No leaves crunched or mad howls or pounding of feet. The land was still as death.

Anger looked at the outline of the castle once more. It was still far enough away that making a mad dash in its direction would mean his demise. He sneered at the unseen lurking around him. His fists balled up and his teeth gritted together as he peered through the dark.

To his left the trees waved, and to his right the moon bleached shadows cried out a warning. He tensed his muscles, readying for an-

"Brother!" Fear called.

Steam billowed from Anger's nostrils. How could his brother be this dimwitted and still be alive? No one with any common sense would-

"Brother! We have to go while there is still time."

"Hush your mouth you ignorant whelp!" He didn't mean to shout but his rage was getting the better of him. His vision was turning red.

"My castle is right here."

"Nytemares are upon us half-wit."

"But Anger I think-"

That was all Fear managed to get out before a blur of motion swept him away. His pained screams filled the vacant darkness. Anger unleashed a beastly howl, more out of his own frustration than from the loss of his brother.

He turned quickly and saw a faint glimpse of a Nytemare darting through the trees. The shadow the beast cast was enormous. It had been sometime since the Nytemares and Demoni were loose. Their containment was one of the best things Mother ever did in Anger's opinion. He knew he was savage, but the Nytemares were on another realm.

A growl came from behind and Anger turned to see. Off in the distance his narrowed yellow eyes saw the monsters, three in all, stalking him. From their perch the Nytemares licked their chops. They stood eight feet tall on their four paws. Their flesh was exposed like newly hatched chicks, a muddled pink with protruding purple veins peeking under the meat. A spider like cluster of dark eyes studied Anger. Their feet were like human hands but with dark talons that gleamed in the light. Green globs of saliva gushed from a maw of devilish razor sharp teeth.

Much to his delight their masters, the Demoni, were nowhere to be seen. Still three rouge Nytemares were keeping him from the safety of the castle.

Nothing but trees were around him, not even a rock to beat them back. His fists and his horns were his only means of defense, and they had to do. Almost instinctively he faded into the shadows around him.

The Nytemares rushed in moving with the speed and power of jungle beasts. A wild hunger was in their eyes as they screeched and howled. One lunged at Anger. With speed that even surprised him Anger launched a hefty fist at the monster. His fist caught the Nytemare square in the jaw, and sent it sprawling yards away. Another Nytemare lunged and he was able to sidestep it. The final one however struck gold raking him across the chest.

It felt like fire coursing through his veins. The pain sent him to one knee, clutching at the wound. He had no time to dwell on the gaping scratches as the Nytemares were circling back. Quickly he rose to his feet letting his wounds soak in the yellow moonlight.

A Nytemare charged at full speed. Anger leaned his head forward at the last moment, his horns smashing against the savage creature's skull. He swore he heard a crack. There was no time to worry about his horns, the job was done. A Nytemare lay dazed at his feet. Two came from his sides, mouths open. He snatched the bloated purple tongue out of the Nytemare on his right. The tongueless Nytemare writhed along the ground, while the other sunk its claws into Anger's back.

Anger howled. He reached behind him and tossed the Nytemare off of him. Light blue liquid seeped from the newly opened wounds. He dropped the still wriggling tongue and went after the yowling monster. The wounded beast clawed at his missing tongue while unleashing savage cries. Anger clamped down on the Nytemare's thrashing hind legs. His back bellowed as he flung the monster into another.

He didn't know how he was still standing. His wounds were deep and raw. But he had to keep moving or end up devoured like his brother. Damn Fear...he could have at least been bait.

The dazed Nytremare staggered to his feet, looking none too happy about being put on his backside. It hurled a furious battle cry as it glared at Anger. The Nytemare clawed at the ground, spittle foaming around curled lips. Anger matched the movement ready to take the fight to the monster. As he did his horns ached as though they remembered what happened before.

Anger charged first and the Nytemare came charging toward him. Every part of Anger felt as if it had been set aflame. He had to keep moving. The castle wasn't far. His wounds could heal later if only he could reach those dank doors.

The Nytemare's jaw unhinged wide enough to swallow him whole. At the very last moment Anger launched himself into the air. His beefy hand slammed on top of the monster its head; slamming it into the ground, mouth first. There was a sickening, yet satisfying, crunch as the cavernous jaw shattered and flesh tore as it taut skin struggled to contain what had been its mouth.

No time to gloat in the minor victory, the beast was merely slowed for a moment. The other two were struggling to get to their feet. He had a clear, if brief, passage to the doors. Survival pushed him forward, making him ignore his pain that told him to quit. Those yellow eyes saw the bone littered steps, and the wrought iron doors. Cawing crows ushered in his presence as he took the steps two and three at a time.

Before he knew it he was at the door. His body crashed against the metal, yet it didn't yield to his power. Horror gripped his black heart. It couldn't be! Why would an abandoned castle be locked? He screamed at the moon, and then pounded his fist into the door. Each blow sounded like a car wreck. 'Open! Open!' he shouted, his voice growing more desperate every time.

From behind him he heard the Nytemares getting organized. They didn't have to rush; their prey was accounted for. They'd savor this meal as they tore at his flesh bit by bit keeping him alive for the entire session. Perhaps they would start at his eyes or maybe his chest, possibly they'd gnaw on his horns until he cried for mercy that would never come.

Anger turned to the stalking Nytemares who converged at the base of the steps. There was no escaping, but he'd make sure they knew they were in a fight. Their claws tapped on the stone steps as they climbed them one at a time. Anger clapped his fist together, egging the monsters forward.

Then...

He heard a loud click and suddenly he was flying backward. After the initial shock he slammed the door in the face of the Nytemares. Heart thudding against his wounded chest he saw his savior.

"I told you not to worry," said Fear holding a flickering candle.

*************************************************************************************

Featured Author: Matt Gannon

June's Featured Author is Matt Gannon!


FTLOW: So, Matt, tell us a little about yourself.

Matt: I'm a young guy from a small place over-run by farmers and hunters. I neither farm or hunt. I do, however, like exploring abandoned houses, writing, reading, photography, and spending time with my friends (cliche, I know, but I'd be nowhere without my friends). I love nature, but I love technology too. I love to read anything by Nicholas Sparks, but in general, I will read anything. Although, I'm not one of those people that sticks a book out till the bitter end. If it sucks, I drop it and move on. Music is a must for my writing process, and typically, so is coffee.
Apart from writing for a living, I would love to own a cafe/bookstore. Or, I would like to start up my own bar. Above all, my biggest wish is to be happy with the one I love, and to be somebody who matters.

 
FTLOW: Why do you write.
 
Matt: The writing craft is a path that can lead a person many places, all in the pursuit of something, whether it's the pursuit of self-satisfaction, or maybe money. I wish there was some way to summarize why I write, or some witty one liner I could use here. There isn't. I write because it gives me a sense of accomplishment that nothing else does. I want fame and fortune because I am vain, but aren't we all? I want to immortalize my existence in the words that I write. I want speak to the world and have them listen. I want to reach out and change people. I think most of all, I just want to be somebody. Writing is my way of becoming who I want to be.
 
 
FTLOW: What inspired you to write?
 
Matt: When I was in Grade 11, I read the poem "Ulysses" by Lord Alfred Tennyson (http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ulysses-2/), and it altered my path entirely. Up until that point, I wanted to design video games. I had did a bit of writing prior to that, and I sucked. But I loved it. When I read that poem, I realized that writing is what I was meant to do. If I were to design video games, I'd be doing the same mundane task every day, and I wouldn't truly be able to to reach people like I would if I became a successful writer. So, it was decided.
 
 
FTLOW: What genre do you write in?
 
Matt: Romance. I feel in my element with this genre, and love is a very large part of my life, so it makes sense for me.
 
 
FTLOW: What gets you in the mood to write? Music? Movies?
 
Matt: Every time I talk about Nicholas Sparks, or see his books, see a commercial for one of his movies, or anything like that, I get the urge to write. He is one of the people who inspires me most.
I am inspired very easily because I see things differently than most people, which is both a blessing and a curse.
Music is always a good enhancement to my writing. It allows me to channel my emotions and thoughts into my words.


FTLOW: How long have you been writing?
 
Matt: Almost 3 years.
 
 
FTLOW: Why should ppl read your work? Do you have a distinct flair/style?
 
Matt: I'm a different kind of guy, and it makes for a different kind of writing. I'm passionate... about everything. I'm interesting. I have heart and ambition. This is my style, or flair. I shouldn't have to convince people to read my work. If it's worth reading, it will be read.
 
 
FTLOW: What are you currently working on?
 
Matt: I've been maintaining a blog off an on for a couple years, and after writing my first novel (A steaming pile of crap, I might add lol), I moved on to my second novel, Flow. I also work for a newspaper here in my home town, so I write for them.
 
 
FTLOW: Is there a place ppl can view some of your writing/work?
 
Matt: My non-fiction ramblings can be found on my blog Matt Gannon. I don't post my fiction.
 
 
FTLOW: How can people get in contact with you?
 
Matt: I can be reached through Facebook and Hotmail: ma_ga366@hotmail.com
 
Thanks Matt for sharing about yourself and why you love to write what you do. And thanks to all of you for reading, make sure to check out the links to his page and blog! You can also view one of his poems under Poetry N Shorts entitled Though They Hold Me.

May's Featured Author is AlinasVoice!

FTLOW: So Alinas, tell us a little about yourself.
AlinasVoice: I’m about as ordinary as you can get, I married my teenage sweetheart, celebrate our 20th Wedding Anniversary on 4th May and turn 43 (how OLD?) on 8th May, I have two teenage children and a job at the local village shop – it is, on the face of it, a bland and boring existence. But then… there’s the other side of me, creative me, who indulges in art, decorating cakes, and writing stories. I’ve been writing since ‘about’ the age of 12.

As a child, I was shy, spent a lot of time on my own and was far from academic - my reading and spelling skills were appalling. Then a wonderful American lady called Nancy Blake, who was a friend of my parents, offered to help me with my reading, and it proved a turning point in my life. She introduced me to Dr Seuss, sat reading with me for hours on end and then, when my love of reading turned into a love of writing; she and my English teacher were the only ones who read my stories and encouraged me to continue.

I’ve been continuing (for them and me) ever since… I just turn up the music (Rob Dougan, Muse, Take That, Owl City, The Feeling, 30 Seconds to Mars or Josh Groban, depending on my mood), shut myself away and write… mainly fantasy, with a strong hint of romance and Sci-fi elements. Oh yes, and occasionally, I write some extremely BAD poetry!



FTLOW: Why should people read your work?
AlinasVoice: You should read my work if you enjoy stories that deal with aspects of the paranormal, fantasy, sci-fi, and romance. I take my inspiration from music and the things I see around me, and I enjoy twisting facts about science and nature into people or situations that are definitely NOT ordinary and species that I would love to be real.



FTLOW: What are you currently working on?
AlinasVoice: Currently, I’m working on Lifelights, the first story in a series, about a species that was created from energy during Earth’s formation. The other books in the series (so far) are Light Revolution (formerly Butterfly Days), which is almost finished but also needs serious editing, 21st Century Light, Chemical Light and New Age Light. I hope to have Lifelights ‘Amazon ready’ for the kindle soon.



FTLOW: Is there a place where people can veiw your writings or contact you?
AlinasVoice: Some of my writing (including the BAD poetry and a few short stories) can be read by visiting www.thelifelights.co.uk (this address takes you to the latest revision of the first 8 chapters of Lifelights on WEbook, as I’m still waiting for my hubby or son, the computer geniuses, to sort out a ‘proper’ web-site!)

You can also contact me through WEbook or by e-mail at sue@thelifelights.co.uk


Thank you Alinas for spending time with us. And thank you so much for reading about this incredible aspiring author!! Make sure to check out her other writing. You won't be disappointed. :) So without further ado, here's something to get you salivating.

Lifelights – Chapter One

Slamming the front door behind her, a cold slice of toast gripped between her teeth, Mara hurtled down the driveway, slipping, as stones skittered underfoot. In the near distance, crows whirled skywards; startled by the rattling and sputtering echoing across the Yorkshire Wolds. It was, pretty much, the same as any other morning.
Late again she thought.
That was the trouble with having your own ‘private’ bus stop only a minute from your door; timing was all too easy to underestimate. Thank God the bus was such a relic, announcing its approach with plumes of black smoke, followed by the occasional cough from its exhaust; otherwise, she’d easily miss it, frequently.
The bus driver greeted her in the same way he’d done for the last four years, his mood ever cheerful, and infectious.
“Good morning pretty girl. You okay today?”
“I am Mr. Thompson… and yourself?” She asked.
A rotund man, who appeared well past retirement age, he shrugged, giving a noncommittal grunt as he took her fare.
Taking a seat, Mara sighed; this was the low point of her day, evening and the company it offered, a long way off. She leant her head against the cool glass of the window, staring out at misty, chalk strewn fields; it was an artist’s dream, hedgerows crisscrossing the landscape, adding to the impression of a giant patchwork quilt. The bus’ racket faded, becoming nothing more than background noise, the journey an oasis of calm within her day, over far too quickly.
As a white sign welcomed them to Beverton, Mother Nature succumbed to suburbia. New buildings encroached outwards all the time, further and further from the medieval heart of the town, with its twin market squares and mellow stoned Minster, in stark contrast to the glass and steel of its descendants. The Tea Cosy Café, as its name might suggest, also came from another era, its Victorian opulence a stone’s throw from the town’s major attractions; Mara knew she was lucky to be working there.

********************
Warmth and the scent of baked sugar, vanilla and cocoa greeted Jennie, the owner of the Tea Cosy, as she backed through its door, carrying a tray of bread and sandwich fillings. She looked as cool and fresh as Mara felt hot and sticky.
“Hmm, smells good darling.” She said, sniffing the air.
Possessing a near encyclopaedic knowledge of all things Beverton and a genuine interest in people, Jennie made working at the Tea Cosy a pleasure and could easily convince its customers to sit a while, eat more than they intended to and, most importantly, keep coming back. Business was booming, and Mara wondered if the owners of the franchise coffee shops, in the centre of town, knew what they were missing.
Rushed off her feet, as the demand for full English breakfasts flowed seamlessly into orders for morning coffee, the first break of the day didn’t arrive until 10.30. It was a chance for them to sit across from each other and catch up; Jennie constantly chatting, trying to coax Mara out of her shell, her employee listening in silent admiration.
It was difficult to tell, but she supposed that Jennie was about ten years older than her, taller and a natural beauty, though she played it down, a simple ponytail showcasing her elegant features. She exuded the sort of confidence that only comes with age, and to top it all, had an innate thoughtfulness that never failed to surprise, especially now. Reaching under the table, Jennie drew out a long, brightly wrapped present and an envelope, pushing them across to Mara, meeting her look of shock with a sly smile.
"I've told you before; I've got a good memory. Bet you thought you'd gotten away with it didn't you?” Jennie said, “Happy Birthday Mara."
Mara continued to stare at the present, blinking back tears. She should have expected this. Why didn’t I? She wondered; she always does remember.
"Go on then, open it. I’ll let you save the card for later, but don't do what you usually do with presents and stare at it for ten minutes, we don't have time this morning." Jennie teased, “After all, Tommy Tourist will be back before you know it, and Pious Pete and the rest of the Church council are booked in for lunch.”
After struggling with the tightly knotted ribbon, Mara carefully peeled back the wrapping paper to reveal a necklace, nestled within layers of tissue. It was something she would have picked for herself.
"Oh Jennie, it's beautiful." She said.
"I thought so." Jennie agreed, "Come on, let me put it on for you and see what it looks like. I thought it perfect for your colouring."
It scintillated against Mara’s pale skin, as Jennie fastened it in place, after handing her a mirror. Sparkling beads, in varying shades of blue, were strung onto a darker blue cord, picking up her eye colour exactly and bringing out the blue tones of her thick black hair.
"Thank you Jennie." She said, their hug feeling somewhat awkward, her emotional barrier in danger of collapsing completely now.
But then the café door opened, ending the moment, as Jennie went to get an order pad, leaving Mara to clear up their break-time debris. The man who walked in was tall with a lean frame and dark brown hair. Nothing out of the ordinary, except, for a moment, she thought she recognised something about him as she made her way back to the kitchen.
"Did you see that gorgeous man?” Jennie said, fanning herself with his order slip as she came through a minute later. “I didn't think they made them like that any more. He's enough to make my knees go weak." She giggled.
"No, can't say I did.” Mara said, “But then, I didn’t get a good look at him; I was too enamoured with my new necklace. And anyway, I've never met a man who weakens my knees, so I'll have to take your word for it."
"Oh, no you don't." Jennie said, "You really have to see this one for yourself. You, darling, can take his order out."
"Okay, but I warn you now; men in general don’t impress me." Mara said, rolling her eyes. She knew it was pointless to argue, and anyway, she was curious.
Expertly balancing the tray in one hand, she carefully placed the tea and cake in front of him; feeling shy, as if he knew exactly what she was doing; she still couldn’t get a good look at him though. His face was angled away from her, bent towards the newspaper he was reading. He barely acknowledged her presence and her pathetic attempt to ogle him wasn’t helped by her eyes choosing that precise moment to blur over; the effect disorientating. All she could see was an out-of-focus face that seemed to shift around oddly in front of her.
Thankfully, the irritation was fleeting, all thought of their new customer disappearing as the lunch time rush began.

******************
By the time she got home it was gone 8pm. Once through the front door, Mara locked the rest of the world out, before kicking off her shoes. She didn’t bother with the lights as she hung up her coat, and anyway, the Lifelights would arrive in a moment, flying towards her from every corner of the cottage, transforming the darkness with their effervescent light.
Vivid balls of energy, the size of two pence pieces, they appeared, moving with graceful speed, always in groups of four. Red, blue, green, silver and gold, their colours glowed, fluctuating as they swarmed around her, teasing her with their gentle, heated touches, fizzing against her skin, re-energising weary nerves. She could feel the day’s tension draining away from her, as she basked in the sense of belonging they offered. Arms outstretched, love swelling inside her, she let the moments slip by, before picking up the carrier bag of goodies that Jennie had given her and heading into the kitchen, the Lifelights moving alongside her. It was on days like this; special days, that she was most thankful for their presence; they were the closest thing to a family, and friends, she had.
Jennie had excelled herself. The bag she’d sent her home with contained a bottle of red wine, a homemade lasagne, a green salad and a chocolate cake; complete with fudge icing, a candle and the number 22 marked out in white chocolate drops; delicious.
Smiling, even as tears once again threatened, Mara dutifully lit the candle, making the customary wish as she blew it out again, before going to put her feet up. The Lifelights fussed, arranging themselves around her, along the arms and back of the sofa, some nudging at her hands, pushing them aside, so they could nestle in her lap.
“You’re very persistent tonight, aren’t you?” She whispered reaching for the envelope Jennie had given her earlier; she expected the usually bawdy card, deliberately picked, in the hope of causing maximum embarrassment or, perhaps, a hastily smothered, wicked laugh.
A moment later, sharp pain sliced across her right index finger. Mara cursed. Paper cuts stung far more than their size warranted; instinctively, she sucked on the wound.
“Mara.” She heard the man’s voice clearly; it sounded urgent.
Freezing, her heart raced with sudden fear, her gaze darting to every corner of the room.
“Mara…you’re hurt.” The voice persisted.
The Lifelights shifted now, behaving strangely, their lights flickering; as if they too could hear the voice. Mara sat bolt upright, looking around the room, moments stretched out, and she knew there was no one there, she could hear where the voice came from; it was in her head.
“Answer me Mara.”
Were the Lifelights finally communicating with her? Mara gasped at the thought, the idea sending her pulse rate higher, adrenalin spiking, sending shivers of excitement racing along her spine and raising the hairs along her arms. It has to be, she thought, at last.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she drew in a slow, steadying breath, before focusing her attention on the Lifelights again. Their movements appeared graceless, their colours flashing. They’d never behaved like this before.
"I'm fine thank you. It's just a small cut, it will soon heal." She said, trying to swallow saliva that wasn’t there. She held her finger up to study the paper cut, trying to pretend that she didn’t feel silly, talking to herself. “Who are you?” She asked, perhaps too casually, all things considered.
“A friend.” The voice said, its pitch lowering, definitely friendlier.
"I don't have friends." Mara whispered before she could stop herself.
“Oh, I think you do. You just haven't opened your eyes to them yet.” The voice said.
It sounded amused, she thought, aware of an indistinct accent, but it was more than just a voice; she could feel it somehow. His words were layered with a confusing mass of emotion, brushing against her mind; her skin tingled; there was something almost physical about it.
"What do you mean?" She asked, not quite knowing what to do, enjoying the strange sensation of his voice and yet completely freaked out by it at the same time.
“Only that you needn’t be alone any more; that part of your life is over Mara.” The voice said, “I’ve found you again.”

FEATURED AUTHOR: Madelaine Bauman

March's featured author is Madelaine Bauman!

Ree Vera:  So glad to have you here! Tell us a little about yourself, Madelaine.

Madelaine:  If I could sum myself up in a sentence, right now, I’d say: Nineteen-year-old aspiring author, the eldest of five kids, and officially crazy.

At least, my family thinks I’m nuts. I like to think it’s a writer thing.

I found my passion for writing at twelve when I wrote a 7-pg fantasy story for class, called Another Place, Another Time which I plan to, someday, expand into a full novel or series. So far, it’s waiting for me to dig it out of my subconscious again after seven years. Since then, writing has become a therapeutic exercise, a place where--out of the chaos of the day--I can find some sort of control and peace.

As far as what I write, I’ve dabbled in, primarily, romantic fantasy; though I’ve also completed an anthology of free verse poetry and an urban romance with vampire hybrids. Sometime in the future, I want to try my hand at writing an epic fantasy, using the Hero‘s Journey template.


Ree Vera:  We all have our style, as writers. So what why should people read your work?

Madelaine:  This is a tough question. I honestly don’t know how to answer this, but I suppose, off the top of my head, the reason why people should read my work is because of reader-character connection. Through my characters, I strive to strike a chord within the readers, make them connect emotionally with the character and the world I’ve put them in and--even if the character isn’t human--make them relatable to the reader as much as possible.


Ree Vera:  What are you currently working on?

Madelaine:  Too much at once. Blogging, taking notes for future projects and ideas, reading and beta- reading for a few close friends, my focus is divided and it can be hard to keep track of what exactly I’m working on at times.

Currently, though, my focus is set on my romantic fantasy trilogy: Hybrid Blood. Draft one of book one, The Key-bearer, has yet to be finished, but I’ve been busy planning the structure of book 2, Falling From Grace and cannot wait to start!


Ree Vera:  Is there a place people can view your writing?

Madelaine:  My writing has been taken off public sites due to publication risks, though, I welcome discussions on writing on my Facebook Page, and have been thinking of posting poetry and a short story or two on there.  Below is an excerpt from an older idea, a possible novella I started, called Stare.


Thank you everyone for taking the time to learn about this incredible author. Please feel free to contact her! She is not just an amazing writer, she is one of the nicest people you'll meet.

Website
Email: madelaineb@ymail.com
Follow her Blog
Facebook



Stare (Chapter one)


The music pounded from the speakers and I watched her weave through the crowd, a shadow amongst solid bodies. The world was a flash of colors—pink, yellow, red, blue, and green—as the strobe light spun above us. The heady scent of perfume and cologne mixed with sweat as I followed her. "Her" was a statuesque brunette, a dark blue cocktail dress moulded to her curves and black heels on her feet. Curled hair framed a heart-shaped face, intensified a pair of wide blue eyes. She was one of them—a Burn Sister. She was delicious, a beauty—though if you got too close, this young lioness would bare her claws.


She made her way to the bar and snagged a stool. Her lips moved, a slight smile pulling at the corners, but I couldn't hear what was being said. The noise had made me deaf. The bartender poured her a drink—Sex on the Beach, by the look of it—and she tipped him, a sultry look in her eyes. The glass rose, clasped in one hand, to her red voluptuous lips and she tipped it just so, taking a long sip.


I melted into the crowd again, my eyes still watching her. She was keeping her eyes on me. I could feel it, the prickling at the base of my spine, crawling up. A shiver. This Burn Sister wasn't new to the job, she wasn't a novice and she knew it. She was flaunting it—enjoying the way I took the bait like a lovesick pup.


She was clever, but not clever enough. I watched as she threw her head back, laughing at something the bartender had said. Any moment now...


Then, she paused, and fell off the stool. Her glass shattered, booze and hair spilling around her like a halo. I smiled and took my leave as a crowd gathered around the dead girl. As I disappeared thorough the door, and into sharp October air, I could already imagine the distant scream of sirens, feel the chaos as paramedics gathered the woman up and carried her away.


One down, plenty more to go…


I exited the club and walked down the street, the air sour with the scent of rotting leaves. The silence was broken by a barking dog. I stuffed my hands into my pockets, the ring of keys jangling like her bracelets. The sleek black Porsche waiting for me a couple blocks down was hers. While she'd charmed the men and swayed with them across the floor, I had slipped my hand into her purse and stolen them. Earlier, I had seen her drive up to the curb, some obscure pop music slithering from the radio. Then, in silence, she slid out; graceful and poised, her earrings glittering in the yellow streetlight. She was paid well, this Burn Sister, and I'm sure she'd also had her fair share of men—been their trophy around the high and mighty, then got down on her knees in the privacy of a hotel room.


"And now she'll be a memory." I unlocked the Porsche and got inside, admiring the chic leather, breathing in deep the thick scent of female pheromones and expensive perfume. As the car purred to life, I allowed myself a moment of silence—not for the woman, not for what I'd done out of the goodness of my black heart, but for her nice ride.


Then I burned rubber, feeling the adrenaline flow, laughing as the tires screeched. If I had used a knife, or a gun—allowed her to see the smile as she died—she may have screeched, may have cried out to her God. May have wondered how a man could do such a thing...


I wondered now, as I tried to cleanse my memory of her, as I opened the window to purge the scent of her from my pores: how must it have felt to yearn for her body, hear her heart beat against her ribs...how must it have felt to know her, love her?


“Superficially, that's how,” Her love, like a candle, was easily lit, and just as easily snuffed. “I should know.” Catching my eye in the rear view mirror, I could see the lie in them—no matter how far I tried to push it back, it had always resurfaced: the memories, the stolen time, the pain. The wandering...


Her death—like a play—had been staged down to the very minute details. I had tracked her down, watched her every move, bribed and convinced people—orchestrated this little scheme until my Cinderella broke her glass of booze and the clock struck two AM. By the time the dancers gathered, this dark prince had slipped away in his black carriage.


As I parked the car at my hotel, found my room and turned the TV to the local news, I wasn't surprised to find camera lenses and anchors flocking the closed off area, trying to perhaps get a glimpse of the paramedics carrying the body away—to get a look at the concrete, juicy details. Cops surrounded the scene and ambulance lights were flashing—red and white, red and white. It looked very much like a macabre dance floor where instead of crushing, thrusting bodies, loud music, and suffocating heat; there was the ambulance lights, the cries and protests of worried and shocked people, and the procedures typical of a crime scene investigation. No one's words trailed me to the dark hotel room. They did not accuse me from the glare of the TV. Grabbing the remote and turning off the news, I was soon left to darkness. The shades were drawn and the lights off. Darkness was easy to hide in—no one could see me grab a beer in hands that shook, no one had to know how fast I drank it, no one had to see the sweat that peppered my neck and brow. I suppose it was guilty conscience, but it had to be done. She had to die.


Why...? they might ask. Even in this lonely darkness; I could see the focused eyes of the cops, the table, the dim light swinging overhead, their pressed uniforms. Looking past the cop, I'd answer Because I was killing her anyway—sucking the life from her. I did it because I loved her...


The cop would laugh, maybe sigh, and run a hand through his hair. His partner would grab my arm and hoist me to my feet. The handcuffs would catch the light and I'd be led to my cell—with a resounding clang, it would close on the world as I knew it forever.


Who would believe the word of a demon anyway?

A Sweet Award :)

I've been honored with this delish AWARD by fellow blogger and writer Moana_B who is the author of Keeper of Secrets--a wonderful blog that everyone should go check out! I feel honored to have crossed her mind when passing on this award. So before completing the tasks attached to this award, I'd like to say a huge thank you!

As for the tasks:

• Share four of your most guilty pleasures.
• Impart this award to six blogspots that you consider worthy of The Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award.

So for my guilty pleasures.....

1.) People watching.
Yeah, you read right. I love observing people everywhere I go. It's a great way to get down different mannersisms and turn-a-phrase for my characters, but it's also fun making up stories in my head about them. What I think they might be like--beyond the way they appear. Idk...I think it's fun LOL! I also enjoy trying different accents on people. I'll answer the phone with a southern drawl, do a Scottish impersonation at the grocery store...stuff like that. It amuses me.

2.) Driving.
I love to drive on a cool, clear night with all the windows rolled down on the back roads near where I live, especially with the music blasting. There's this incredible road that passes through miles of preserve; it stretches and winds forever. It never fails to lift my mood.

3.) Singing for no reason.
I have this sick need to burst into song for no apparent reason. I could be in the grocery aisle, pumping gas, or waiting in line at the theatre--and I'll just get that urge to belt out "La Vie Boheme" or "Crazy Bitch" much to my friend's and family's embarassment. Ha ha...yeah...

4.) Reeses Pieces, Sweet Tea, and Lox.
I'm not much of a candy freak but there is something about Reeses Pieces that makes me want to eat them all day. There's also this sweet tea I drank while in Romania--it took a while to get used to the taste but now I am hooked and it's ruined any other type of tea for me. And Lox...ah, the salty salmon treat that most don't appreciate but I heart so much :)

I didn't add writing in there because that's pretty much a given ha ha

And now for the blogs I would like to pass on this award to...

Crazy Lady With a Pen

Madelaine Bauman

Raven Clark

Samantha Anderson-Author

Sometimes, even I talk nonsense

Word + Stuff

I hope you all will take the time to keep this sweet award going and expose some of those guilty pleasures you keep secret :) Thanks again to Moana_B!

Happy Writing!

FEATURED AUTHOR: Julieanne Lynch

February's featured author is Julieanne Lynch!

Ree Vera: Tell us about yourself, Julieanne.

Julieanne: Well, first things first. I am a thirty-something, sometimes domestic goddess, married to my childhood sweet heart and a mother of four children. I first started writing when I was eleven years old, after falling in love with Lewis Caroll's "Alice in Wonderland." I began drafting my own stories, penning songs, scripts, and reading book after book. As I got older, my writing became an outlet to me whilst battling school bullies. I found the whole process of creating my own worlds therapeutic and, in a sense, my creativity saved me. At sixteen I penned my first novel, "Dynamite" and pretty much wrote consistently after that. I write mainly genre fiction, with urban fantasy being my favorite. However, I also like to work in horror and erotica and have also penned one mainstream fiction novel. At present I am waiting for the release date by my publisher and hope to have my book in the stores by summer.


Ree Vera: Why should people read your work?

Julieanne: People should read my work because I delve beyond the boundaries of our typical folklore tales. I take creatures and make them my own. I love writing about Vampires, Angels, Demons, and twisting things as I go along. I also love a good love story, but like dabbling with heartbreak and inner turmoil. Most of all, I love to shock my readers.


Ree Vera: What are you currently working on?

Julieanne: At present, I am working on book 2 in my Shadow World series, "Walking with Shadows." I am also writing a book called Ice Goddess and a few short stories.


Ree Vera: Is there a place people can view samples of your writing?

Julieanne: I have posted some short stories in my blogs and there are also some snippets of my work in the discussions tab on my Facebook page. Below is a short snippet of Chapter 7 of "In the Shadows," my debut novel.


Thank you for taking the time to read about this amazing aspiring author. If you would like to contact Julieanne Lynch, here is how:

Blog:  Sometimes, Even I Talk Nonsense
Twitter: @Funkyjules
Live Journal:  The Dark Side
Facebook:  Julieanne Lynch Aspiring Author



"In the Shadows" (chapter 7)


Alarming as it may be, I was quite excited. Sounds pretty crazy, but I got caught up in the moment, and being made a fuss of was definitely something I could get used to. But as always, reality has a nasty way of hitting you hard in the face.


I walked behind Atarah and Angelika as they led me through corridors that looked like something out of a gothic fairy tale. The walls were a strange shade of pomegranate; its boldness illuminated by softly lit candles. The wooden floors were temporarily covered with a bluish red runner that ran the whole length of the hall. Amaranthine drapes hung over the grand bay windows. The air had a distinct aroma, I couldn't quite place the smell, but I was sure it was incence, its strong fragrant smoke brushed the back of my nostrils resulting in a few disapproving sneezes.


Sniffling, "Excuse me!" as we entered the hall, through a large set of oak doors.


It was a very dramatic entrance. Stood below me were hundreds of unknown faces. A few stood out, but they were strangers all the same. They wore a mixture of black and purple clothes.


The women dressed in floor length gowns, their hair pulled back tight and their hands covered by long lace gloves. The men's attire consisted of black herringbone frockcoats with matching black trousers. All wore purple shirts with black cravats.


I looked around trying to find Alex, and there he stood, with Leonid in front of an altar. It was the most spectacular thing I had ever seen. Lit canldes and floral arrangments of violets, orchids, red roses, lilies and irises filled the entire room. The scent was overwhelming.


Silence fell, and all eyes were on me. My stomach churned and panic set in. I wanted to run through the doors and as far from here as I could but behind me were two large men standing in front of the doors. They weren't going to move for me.


I stood alone and watched the smile spread across Alex's face as he ushered me to him.


I must have floated down the stairs as I can't remember walking down. The crowd moved as I walked through an aisle strewn with rose petals.


Alex looked amazing. I had never seen him look so handsome. He wore identical clothes to the rest of the men, except his cravat matched the grey marl in the sash I wore around my waist. His smile radiated the whole room and in normal circumstances it would have melted my heart, but there was something sinister in his eyes.


The deep redness flickered in the light of the candles.


I was so out of my depth.


Taking my hand he led me to a stoe slab in front of the altar. Shaking, my voice qui


vered as I whsipered to him.


"What's going on?"


"It's your consecration. Remember, you will be blessed tonight. Just follow my lead."


He was so calm and expected me to mirror his demure behavior. But I was anything but calm. Sweat began to seep in the palms of my hands. So many eyes were on me.


Breathe, Giselle, just breathe!


Alex directed me to lie down on the stone slab. I obliged and rested my body on the coldness of the concrete beneath me. Incense filled the space around mem; no air just smoky fumes. Four men stood at each corner of the slab, each holding a staff. Their eyes filled with the crimson tide that was visible in both Alex and Leonid. Alex stood back and disappeared behind his father. I was alone with the strange men, each mumbling to himself.


From the alter came the voice of someone I knew.


Atarah.


"Tonight, we rejoice in the awakening of our sister Giselle. She will be the vessel in which our new blood will run. It has been spoken by our forefathers that a mortal will bore the child of our beloved Prince Alexander. Our Goddess Lilith, bless this union and with her consent we will commence."


Not a sound was heard. I lay still and held my own breath. Wind blew around the room sending shivers down my spine.

FEATURED AUTHOR: Nancy J. Rich

Hello Everyone!


January’s FEATURED AUTHOR is Nancy J. Rich and she is an aspiring Christian author.

Ree Vera: “Please tell us about yourself.”


Nancy: “I am a born-again Christian with a dark-side succeeding from my past failures. Let me explain: Because of my past failures, writing has turned from a therapeutic means of survival to a passion growing inside me and given me lots of material.
I first began writing in 1992 as a young Christian writing short poems, short personal stories, and a few skits. Although my pastor and his wife encouraged me to write and to one day publish, I did not consider myself or my writings as worthy.


After my husband retired from the Marine Corps, we moved to his hometown of Rich Hill, fostered and soon adopted two young brothers, and became a family. It was through foster parenting that we discovered the dark-side of our sons' past upraising. Their wounds, especially our oldest son's, ran deep as we heard of the many atrocities they lived with. We tried very hard to raise them the best we could. During this time, I fell in love with the medical field and the knowledge it afforded me.


As much as I loved learning in and working in nursing and in the emergency medical services, I craved more at every turn. I tried LPN, but that didn't work out. I tried paramedic studies, but that too did not work out. (Not because of grades, but because of growing older, family, and financial problems.) This is where my life took a big plunge and I found myself and my family deep in debt, myself unemployed, and deeply depressed feeling like I had lost everything.


I began creative writing again while trying to work as a part-time dispatcher. Working as the night shift dispatcher for a small town does not keep one very busy. Writing became a source of killing time. Unfortunately, dispatching was not a good fit so I was unemployed again. I soon, reluctantly, returned to the work I wanted to leave behind me—working in a nursing home. Caring for the elderly is where I shine the most. I kept writing to work out my frustrations and the remnants of my insecurities.


Today, I grow more and more in submission to God's call on my life to write. I have many friends, family, co-workers, residents, and a network of other writers determined to keep me accountable to continuously grow in my writing and finishing projects. They inspire me. They pray for me. They urge and cheer me on. It would not surprise me if angels were rooting for me in heaven.


What I write always stems on the dark-side, even in some of the children's stories. Many project dark crevasses revealing what people try to mask and to hide about themselves while some of my lighthearted works take on little shavings of darkness, but all reveal the wonderful hope of finding that light at the end of the tunnel that dispels the darkness that tries to devour our souls.


I am a recent graduate of the Institute for Children's Literature home course and they have invited me to apply to their advanced course. My first novel is in the capable hands of a professional copy editor.


By the way, both sons are grown and are living on their own. We miss them, however, Greg and I are enjoying being a couple again—along with the two four-legged dog-children. We definitely have plenty to stay busy!


Ree Vera: “Why should people read your work?”


Nancy: “I have been given a perspective of where hurt comes from and what people will do to rid their lives of its pain. During my studies in the medical field, I became fascinated with the human body. Anatomy and Physiology was and still is my favorite subject. I am a very visual reader and learner which intensifies this perspective in my mind and I try hard to describe what I see in my writing.


Every person lives with a past history they are very much ashamed of and desire to hide, whether it is their own wrongs or the wrongs inflicted upon them. I want to encourage people and let them know they have hope; they don't have to be enslaved to their dark side.”




Ree Vera: “What are you currently working on?”


Nancy: “I have finished typing out my first novel and it is in the capable hands of a professional copy editor. YAY!


When you read this interview, I will be sacrificing television, supper breaks at work, and sleep time to bang out a 50,000 word novel for a novel writing contest called JANO. NaNo is in November, but JANO is in January through a writer's group in Springfield, Missouri, Sleuth's Ink. I also plan to take some vacation time during January from work. Needless to say, if I'm not writing, I will be deep cleaning the house for a change.”




Ree Vera: “Is there a place people can view your writing?”


Nancy: “I feature writings on my website and facebook page under the Notes section. I have a few poems and short stories, and I have to admit, some characters are frozen in time in a blog book I haven't been able to get back to. Sigh! The title is STRUGGLING IN THE DARKNESS.”




Ree Vera: “Is there anything else you would like to add about yourself or your prospective on writing?”


Nancy: “There is a great future in Christian fiction and I want to get on this train with authors who have inspired me through their works: Ted Dekker, Frank E. Peretti, Terri Blackstock, Brandyln Collins, and Jerry B. Jenkins. Their works has helped me to further my understanding of the importance of expanding a perspective of what God can do in people's lives if they will place their trust in Him through a relationship with Jesus Christ.


By the way, I don't just read Christian fiction. I am a great fan of John Grissom, Robert Ludlum, Edgar Allen Poe, and Lewis Carroll. I have read every Donna Parker book written when I was still in my innocence, however, my innocence took a bad turn when I discovered Rosemary Rogers as a teen. She is a very visual writer, but she takes the imagination to a depth of fantasy that can defile the purity of God-intended sex and romance. Some fiction should be rated like movies and television programs.


I conclude by saying to any who are thinking about/realizing that writing may be their calling, just their hobby, or are feel unsure/unworthy…my advice to them is just do it. Journals of all sorts help us all release our failures, chronicle our victories, and sort out our tangled lives. When we write stories, we can distance ourselves a little so the emotional effects are less harsh because characters are experiencing the emotions involved in the situation. And think about this, if you have survived a traumatic situation, don't you think others could benefit from your experience while battling in the same or similar situation?


Thank you for taking the time to read about this wonderful aspiring author. If you would like to contact Nancy J. Rich, here is how:


Website: freewebs.com/nancyjrich
Email: nancyjrich50@yahoo.com
Facebook page: Nancy J. Rich
Twitter: NJR50


Ree Vera: “Would you like to leave us with a sample of your writing?”


Nancy: “I wrote this humorous story after reading an article in Writer's Digest on writer's journals. When I read they resemble a spider web, my imagination went a little crazy.”

 "Spider Web Writer's Journal"


I am sitting on my couch just finishing up my prayer journal when I remember I had committed myself to starting a Writer's Journal for the sake of not loosing inspiration for any future writings.
Going to my closet, still stacked to the hilt with notebooks containing unfinished projects collecting dust, I grab my last ringed notebook. How is it I can start so much and just cram it in the closet? With a sigh and an overwhelming wave of overload crashing on top of my head like all the trees in the world falling down to make the paper for this journal, I return to the couch to begin the first day.


At first I did not know what to write. "What do one of these journals look like? I need an example." I turned to my Writer's Digest magazine returning to the article that gave the inspiration. The author described her journal as a spider web of ideas and notes. "Okay," I said to myself, "let's see if I can duplicate it."


Although the parallel lines made the drawing difficult, I began to draw a spider web spiraling from the middle of the page and around till I had nowhere else to go. I drew lines from the middle circle to the edge of the page to make the web look reinforced, then began to place short snippets in various places or short info about notes. I was having a great time with this new, wonderful invention, until.....


I did not see where it came from. It did not jump suddenly on the page, but gently glided down onto it. Naturally, I shrieked, my arms flying in the air and my legs jumping almost dumping all the contents on my lap to the floor. What sat on the spider web I had drawn was a good size black widow spider!


I froze in terror as it walked around the page looking at each one of lines and the snippets written on them. It seemed unconcerned of its safety or of my presence, to that matter. It would stop at a snippet, read it, then move on to the next. With each passing moment, I waited in amazement. I fumbled slowly with my hands for something nearby in order to strike the spider, if needed, but my eyes remained on the spider and its unusual actions.
Finally, the spider looked up at me and with its little head cocked and a foot under its chin, it says to me, "What are you doing to my spider web?"


"Your spider web?" I asked in total shock, "What do you mean your spider web? It is my writer's journal so I can organize my thoughts onto a page. Now would you mind telling me what you mean, your spider web."


All the sudden, it occurred to me I was having a conversation with a black widow spider! Am I dreaming? Have I become delusional or am I hallucinating? My head began to spin, but I force myself to maintain control—I do have a black widow spider on my lap, after all.


The spider rubbed its chin as though considering what it should say next. It looked back up to me and said still unconcerned, "I think we have a little dilemma here. One we should walk out before one of us gets hurt."


Delusion or hallucination, I did not care at this point. This spider sounded as though it were warning me of some harm if I did not relinquish this of this spider web drawing. But, being the good-natured Christian I was, I decided to reason with the little varmint.


"I wonder if you would be able to capture anything with this spider web. It was drawn onto a piece of paper with an ink pen. Absolutely nothing will stick within the lines so you can cocoon it and eat it. Did this ever cross your mind?" I said leaning comfortably back and crossing my arms.


"Tie that one on, Missy!" I said to myself.


The spider pointed a leg at my nose and demanded, "You have two seconds to rid my web of this garbage!"


My eyes widened in madness (literally)!


"It’s ink, you furry, eight-legged bug! A little red ink on your belly and a little venom is suppose to scare me into giving you a web that won't even work for you? I drew it! What part of this don't you understand?"


I can't believe I am yelling at a bug!


The black widow gives out a long sigh, rears up on its front legs showing off its red spot, and makes a kind of a low, hissing sound.


My hand finds a book lay on the table next to me. Picking up the book, I send it crashing down upon the creature with the intent to kill. When the book landed on its target, I ensured the spider's destruction by pounding the book with my fists.


"Try to scare me into giving you my journal!" I cried, "You're a dead spider, widow!"


Feeling confident the black widow was now a splatter on the page and a guew on the back of the book, I slowly lift the book off the paper. But the spider was gone! I look all around for the blasted thing not finding it anywhere.


Now I was getting scared!


I jump up from the couch tossing cushions and lifting furniture. I caused quite the disarray in my neatly cleaned living room. Still not finding the little furry spider, I fall back onto the couch panting from the exertion and relieved in the thought I must have scared it away forever.


"A-hem!" Came a voice from above my head.


Looking up, I see that bug doing something completely inconceivable; It was laughing!
"I have scared humans and I have bitten humans, but I have never made a human go insane. This is fun! I think I will have to do this again! Bye!"


And that infuriating spider glides up to a crack in the ceiling laughing all the way.


No wonder people don't get along with spiders!!!!