Pagan Culture

Frogs, Books and Skulls – Miniature Witchy Book

2012-05-17T06:31:00.000-04:00

I like me. I’m smitten with all of me; enchanted with the wicked twinkle in my eyes, the sweetness of my touch, the darkest bits of my witchy mind—I love me a lot. I am intelligent and fun. My hair is wonderful, and my smile can brighten the gloomiest of moods. I am fantastic, I…

Wait! Don’t head for the hills, my Wicked Luvs. I had to do this in order to enter Amy’s All Together Nowparty. She made it “mandatory – you must say great things about yourself,” she ordered. I had to follow her rules. You know my policy on rules. I always… um, twist them *grins wickedly*

But I liked the idea of tooting my own horn in the company of other fantabulous people, so I’m actually sticking to Amy’s rules. Why not, right? I believe I must love myself first—and often—before I can help anyone else reach their happy ending. Do you give yourself compliments? Have you done it lately? If not, just find a mirror, face that gorgeous reflection, and tell yourself how freaking awesome you are, and answer, “Yes, yes, yes!” to my question.

Now, to continue my strange rule-following streak, I’m giving away something I made. Yep, leave a comment telling me just how incredible you are, and you can win one of these Miniature Witchy Books:

Cover material from left to right: coffee filter, grapefruit peel, orange peel.

The book’s content will be a surprise. I will share that the words will be about AlmaMia Cienfuegos and they will have to do with myths, blessings, skulls, books and frogs. Also, and I really love this part, I want to tell you that the mini books are made from yummy recycled materials: orange peel, rice paper, coffee filter, grapefruit peel…

To participate, leave a comment tooting your own horn. Oh, you can talk about my greatness, too, of course. I would hate to limit my gods-given right to be adored. And just so you know, you are wicked marvelous!

Since you are already here… why not join the AlmaMia Cienfuegos Blog travels for a chance to win ebook copies of my short story and, if you are wicked lucky, you can also win AlmaMia’s bracelet.

AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Blog Stops

Day 1 – May 15^th- Capturing a Moment in AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Life - SunshineShelle

Day 2 - May 17^th - Frogs, Books and Skulls – Miniature Witchy Book - Pagan Culture Weird, I know

Day 3 – May 19^th - Truth in AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Tale - Magic Love Crow

Day 4 – May 21^st - AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Wild Magic - Laura DeLuca

Day 5 – May 23^rd - Grandmothers Are Magical Creatures - Olde Baggs ‘n Stuft Shirts

Day 6 – May 25^th - The Strong Women in AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Life - Green Witch with Sprinkles

Day 7 – May 27^th- AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Mango Tree - Daydream Believer

In case you forgot, my Luvs, you are wicked marvelous…

…and so am I.

This post is a day early, so you still have time to join All Together Now.

The Miniature Witchy Book winner will be announced May 25^th.

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Wicked Mojito Moments

2012-05-15T17:46:00.000-04:00

I knew about the power of rosemary and lavender burned with love. I have also witnessed the magical practicality of midnight margaritas, but the idea of wicked mojito moments never occurred to me. Yep, my Wicked Luvs, the tropical drink, mixed with energy and positive thoughts, must have appeased the Amazon gods because AlmaMia Cienfuegosis now available on Kindle ;-)

Our wild girl is excited. Going from the woods of El Monte to the vastness of the WWW (whole wide world), has AlmaMia a bit wild-eyed. But anxiety doesn’t translate to fear; not for a girl with 3 charms, a few stones and an arsenal of witchy Caribbean smiles. She comes ready to accept the fruit of the world, peel it with her teeth, enjoy its juicy goodness, plant its seeds and watch it sprout.

Thanks for sticking around and cheering me up, my Wicked Luvs.
Join our little girl’s blog travels and “let the wild rumpus start!”

Amazon US UK DE FR ES IT

AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Blog Stops

Day 1 – May 15^th- Capturing a Moment in AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Life - SunshineShelle

Day 2 - May 17^th - Frogs, Books and Skulls – Miniature Witchy Book - Pagan Culture Weird, I know

Day 3 – May 19^th - Truth in AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Tale - Magic Love Crow

Day 4 – May 21^st - AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Wild Magic - Laura DeLuca

Day 5 – May 23^rd - Grandmothers Are Magical Creatures - Olde Baggs ‘n Stuft Shirts

Day 6 – May 25^th - The Strong Women in AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Life - Green Witch with Sprinkles

Day 7 – May 27^th- AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Mango Tree - Daydream Believer

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When Life Throws Me Limes, I Make Mojitos

2012-05-15T02:00:00.000-04:00

I should probably start by saying that the mojitos are for you, as I’m allergic to mint. So why will you need the drink? Well, *takes deep breath and lets lips tremble for maximum effect* AlmaMia Cienfuegos hasn’t gone live yet. It might take a few days… *triple sigh*

To say that I’m not disappointed would be a lie, but I refuse to be the one who lets Fate squeeze acid into her wounds without fighting back. If life wants to throw limes my way, I will grab them and make mojitos.

Just so you know, when I first discovered the little your-book-is-not-ready-yet glitch, I wasn’t so willing to roll with the punch—I was, um… distraught. Then my Piano Man held me and said, “I know you’ll make it work. You always do.”

And Shelle told me not to worry because she was going to “have a mojito, too.”

I’m not sure if it was the thought of an alcoholic drink I’ll never have, or perhaps the recollection that the world will turn even when the wheel doesn’t spin my way, or maybe, just maybe, it was Kallan’s Facebook wall that reminded me that even during tough moments: “I am too positive to be doubtful, too optimistic to be fearful… too determined to be defeated,” and too freaking witchy to let any piece of technology ruin my day.

Also—and this is the most important bit—I have wonderful Wicked Darlings who have all kinds of ways to get me out of the dumps ;-)

So, until AlmaMia comes out to play, her blog tour continues as planned. Cross your fingers with me, grab your favorite beverage, and tell me about a moment when life didn’t work out the way you expected, but you made it work anyway.

After you are done sharing your Mojito Moment, visit SunshineShelle—the first of AlmaMia Cienfuego’s Blog Stops—and enter to win AlmaMia’s bracelet.

AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Blog Stops

Day 1 – May 15^th^-Capturing a Moment in AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Life - SunshineShelle

Day 2 - May 17^th - Frogs, Books and Skulls – Miniature Witchy Book - Pagan Culture Weird, I know

Day 3 – May 19^th - Truth in AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Tale - Magic Love Crow

Day 4 – May 21^st - AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Wild Magic - Laura DeLuca

Day 5 – May 23^rd - Grandmothers Are Magical Creatures - Olde Baggs ‘n Stuft Shirts

Day 6 – May 25^th - The Strong Women in AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Life - Green Witch with Sprinkles

Day 7 – May 27^th- AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Mango Tree - Daydream Believer

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A Charm Bracelet from AlmaMia Cienfuegos to You…

2012-05-13T00:13:00.000-04:00

...and a magical cover from SunshineShelle to me.

It took a grandmother, a librarian and a lot of patience to raise AlmaMia Cienfuegos. To tell the story of the nine-year-old girl, it is taking a witchy writer, a Piano Man, a ray of SunshineShelle, a hot friend with an eye for typos, a magical tree, a donated charm bracelet, a universe of Wicked Darlings and… okay, I have to stop or I’ll never get to the giveaway or to AlmaMia’s blog tour.

AlmaMia Cienfuegos: a Story of Blood, Scars and Nightmares is due to be released *fingers, toes and anything else you can manage crossed* on Tuesday, May 15^th. To celebrate, I was going to give away a few copies of the ebook. But the husband of a certain artist friend—he’s shy—said, “Don’t writers give something like a big knife that was used in the story when a book comes out?”

“Some do,” I said. “But I doubt anyone would want the razor AlmaMia used to shave Soledad’s eyebrow.”

We both agreed a used razorblade would be pretty nasty, so a week later, my friend’s husband decided he wanted a lucky Wicked Darling to get this instead:

A little book, a skull and a frog; AlmaMia would be proud of him. I know I am.
Thank you, Leatherneck, you rock! Oh, stop glaring already, no one but me calls you that.

There will be a total of 13 ebooks given away during AlmaMia’s tour. The luckiest of all my Wicked Darling Luvs, will received an ebook and AlmaMia’s charm bracelet. Each tour stop will have instructions on how to participate. I will link the post titles (below) to the appropriate blogs as I go.

I’m excited—and scared out of my mind—about this one, my Wicked Luvs. Please send some lavender and rosemary scented energy to keep me calm and keep me going. “Let the wild rumpus start!” by sharing your thoughts about Shelle’s cover. I *sniff, sniff*love it. Yep, Shelly’s brush can see inside my head.

In Dreams, nine-year-old AlmaMia Cienfuegos chokes on the tears and blood that bubble out of her eyes, while her sister, Soledad, gloats over the younger girl’s broken body. Mamabuela insists Soledad means no harm; AlmaMia knows the difference between nightmares and reality, but her sister still frightens her. When AlmaMia refuses to hand in a family heirloom, Soledad’s rage sends the Cienfuegos family over the edge.

Set in the Dominican Republic, “AlmaMia Cienfuegos” tells a story where blood deceives, nightmares rot, and sisters wage war on each other.

AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Blog Stops

Day 1 – May 15^th^-Capturing a Moment in AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Life - SunshineShelle

Day 2 - May 17^th - Frogs, Books and Skulls – Miniature Witchy Book - Pagan Culture Weird, I know

Day 3 – May 19^th- Truth in AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Tale - Magic Love Crow

Day 4 – May 21^st - AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Wild Magic - Laura DeLuca

Day 5 – May 23^rd - Grandmothers Are Magical Creatures - Olde Baggs ‘n Stuft Shirts

Day 6 – May 25^th - The Strong Women in AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Life - Green Witch with Sprinkles

Day 7 – May 27^th- AlmaMia Cienfuegos’ Mango Tree - Daydream Believer

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I Love You Vain, Echo, I Love You Vain

2012-05-11T00:52:00.000-04:00

I’m proud of the way my hips sway and my breasts perk up at the sound of my Piano Man’s voice. “My love, you are so sexy,” he says.

“You are so sexy,” I echo. And he, too, perks up at the sensual beat carried in my words.

I can stare at him for… ever. His legs, his arms, his smile, his fingers… “Oh, your fingers know just how to play with my flesh. Touch me always,” I say.

“Touch me always,” he echoes. And I, too, let my fingers play with his flesh, his hair, with that spot where his lower back meets even lower bits of his all.

I love the way my man looks. I love that he, too, loves how I look. We’ve become each other’s nymphs. He is my Echo… I am his Echo. Our souls share two halves of a Narcissus that love to come together and kiss.

“I want you always,” I say. “I want you always,” he echoes.

♥ ♫♥ ♫ ♥ ♫♥ ♫♥ ♫♥ ♫♥

Today, Serenity, the author of Get Off Your Broom, decided “it was time to call it quits.” She had many reasons to do so, but one of them stayed with me. She said, “Call me old-fashioned and politically incorrect, but appearance will always be a huge part of my fitness goals. I want to look good in a bathing suit. So sue me. But anytime I’m honest about how I am a vain individual who values personal appearance, someone hates it.”

I asked Serenity if she wanted to share lawyers, for I can often be found in front of the mirror admiring my bits. And the smile on my face when my Piano Man assesses my assets? Oh, my Wicked Darlings, vanity and narcissism might not be able to describe what goes on inside of me.

I wish that when someone said “I look so lovely,” we could just smile and echo, “I look so lovely,” too.

I love all the mes I know… echo… echo… echo…

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Goddesses Discuss the State of the Uterus

2012-05-09T22:58:00.000-04:00

After too many hours working on “AlmaMia Cienfuegos,” my eyes were beginning to play tricks on me. You know, that moment during the rereading process when words start to merge and the reader begins to wonder if Rorschach is running secret tests. Yep, I was seeing nothing but inkblots, so I had to walk away from AlmaMia for a while.

To refresh my brain housing group, I turned into a post I’ve been working on for Timeless Ritual’s 13 Goddesses in 13 Weeks project, which will be over in three weeks or so. I fell behind on my goddesses’ postings, and decided that instead of catching up I would just bring my creatresses together and discuss the current state of the uterus on the last day of the project.

This is not the actual post, but I can tell you that my mind is having a blast…

I was wondering what one of my favorite goddesses would say, if she received a prayer from a woman complaining about not having much political power over her uterus. I won’t tell you which goddess I think might say this, but the reaction my mind attributed to the deity made me roar.

You see, instead of answering the prayer right away, the goddess in question contacted one of her godly friends and said this: “I thought it prudent to ask if you, or perhaps another goddess with a taste for the dark arts, have given certain males of the human species a uterus. Did you? Let me know soon, for if this is someone’s idea of a sick joke, I promise my crows will be consuming that someone’s most cherished bits.”

I’m sure you can tell which goddess I think might say those words. But this is not the purpose of this post. I just wanted to ask, what do you think your favorite goddess or god would say about the current state of health insurance, religion and female contraception?

I borrowed this pissed off crow from Life is a Prayer . com

Don’t touch him; I’m pretty sure it would chomp your finger off.

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In Love with Porphyria’s Lover

2012-05-08T19:13:00.000-04:00

I have a secret.

I fell in love with Porphyria’s Lover when I was eleven-years-old. I was introduced to her by Doña J, a woman who lived in a small cottage about a mile away from my house. Most people, in my village, were afraid of Doña J. They stayed away from her yard and even avoided the trail that ran next to her house. She had tons of books, and trees that ignored the turn of the wheel and stayed forever loaded with fruit. As you can imagine, I adored Doña J, her fruit trees and her books.

I used to go to her house every day after school, unless her husband, the Caribbean incarnation of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, was home. I liked Doña J’s fruits, but what I really loved was the illuminated copy of Robert Browning’s Porphyria’s Lover that she kept hidden in an old Bible. She kept the drawings in that particular book because the Dr Jekyll side of her husband was very religious and physically abusive—he didn’t hit or yell if he thought she was reading the Bible; Mr Hyde was never lucid enough to enjoy being cruel.

Anyhoo, I fell in love with Porphyria’s Lover because of Doña J’s amazing illuminations and her vivid interpretations of the poem. I don’t remember all the illustrations, but there are three I will never forget.

1. A drunken man grabbing a woman by the hair and biting her neck.

2. The same man striking the woman with a bottle and cracking her skull.

3. The woman, now ethereal, strangling the man with her long, curly hair and absorbing his life-force until the terrible beast stops being.

I was fascinated by the uncanniness of it all… but if you’ve read Porphyria’s Lover, you probably figured out that there was something peculiar about Doña J’s art. Well, in case you haven’t read Browning’s poem, let me share some of the strangling lines out of the mouth of Porphyria’s disturbing lover:

That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string l wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.

…

And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said aword!

You can go HERE to read the entire poem. Wondering about the secret I’ve kept for twenty-four years? Here it is: as much as I admire Robert Browning’s words, I doubt I would have ever fallen as deeply in love with Porphyria’s Lover without Doña J’s interpretation and rewriting of a line or three. And in all these years, no other art, inspired by the poem, has evoked, in me, emotions which matched that of Doña J’s illuminations and drawings.

Until I ran into this piece of greatness by Molly Crabapple; I stared at this ethereal lady for a very long time, so don’t feel bad if you, too, find your heart’s eyes lost in her beauty. She just looks so free, self-owned and eternal… “And yet God has not said aword!”

Porphyria's Lover by Molly Crabapple. Stop by her website to see more dreams.

I would love to read one of your artsy secrets, my Wicked Luvs. Then stop by The Butterfly Effect, meet the rest of the super creative gang, and see what hidden/secrets things everyone is painting to life. While you are there, click on Amy’s link (sidebar) and join her All Together Now blog party. I already know you are freaking awesome, but I’ll love to share you with the world ;-)

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Witch, Wiccan – Tomato, Potato

2012-05-07T00:13:00.000-04:00

When a new friend said to me, “I didn’t know you were Wiccan.” I responded that I was not. She gave me a puzzled look and added, “But you just said you were a Witch.”

I smiled, asked her to sit by me, and started a conversation that ended with, “Witch, Wiccan—tomato, potato.” The middle was filled with something that resembled the following list:

1. I am a Witch.

2. I revere Nature and all her creatures.

3. Magic is wild energy that can be twisted and changed.

4. To me, deities are different aspects of Nature.

5. Magic is as benevolent or evil as its intent and outcome.

6. Good invites better and bad summons destruction.

7. Spells are prayers with a flare that makes flesh dance and soul sing.

8. My pentacle is fire, water, earth, air, and spirit dancing together in the circle of life.

9. Darkness is as beautiful, powerful and necessary as light.

10. In my life, sex is physical and spiritual magic.

11. Evil is manmade and man-fed.

12. Spirituality is the garb of the soul.

13. Words have power.

My friend was quiet for a while, and then asked, “What do Wiccans believe?”

It was my turn to stay quiet for a while. I explained that I could tell her what I thought Wiccans believed, but that it wouldn’t be true. A couple of weeks later, I asked my dear friend Robin, from Wiccan Writes, for some help. Here is her answer:

“I am happy to have been asked by Magaly to collaborate on this post. I am a solitary practitioner of Wicca. This list reflects my personal path. Other Wiccans may have different views. I consider myself Wiccan and Witch; for me they are one in the same.

1. Honor both God and Goddess.
2.Adherence to the Wiccan Rede: (to paraphrase) Spellwork, rituals and other activities must Harm None; therefore do what you believe in.
3.Three-Fold Law of Return: Good begets good (three times over) and Bad begets bad (three times over).
4. In rituals/spell work, I use Witch’s tools: wand, besom (broom), cauldron, stones, candles, herbs, incense, altar and more.
5. The Moon and the Sun are symbolic as they represent Goddess and God, respectively.
6. Phases of the Moon are vital to my Path.
7.Celebrating the turning of the Wheel of the Year and 8 respective sabbats (holidays).
8. Natural magick (directing Nature’s energies to effect a change).
9. The Unseen World. There are energies and spirits that may not exist on the human level, but may still be seen, accessed and interacted with by the use of meditation, divination and other methods.
10.Stewardship of our planet and the higher love felt for Mother Earth is a guiding force in my practice.
11. The pentagram is a sacred symbol, the points representing the Four Elements necessary for life and magick: Earth, Air, Fire, Water with the fifth point representing Spirit.
12.Positive and negative energies influence every aspect of life. I walk on the so-called right hand path, the Light path focusing on positive Work. I do not practice Magick centering around revenge, hatred, violence or manipulation.
13. Wicca is an evolving pagan religion, just as Nature evolves, neither is static; there is always something new to explore even as one keeps Old Ways alive.”

I will email this post to my friend, and I will point out that the right question is not what Witches believe or what Wiccans believe, but what guides the spiritual life of each person. So, a Wiccan can be Witch, a Witch can be Wiccan, Robin is both, I am a wild Witch. We, and most Witches and Wiccans, are Nature-loving people who take pride and pleasure in finding ourselves within the Divine.

In case some of you are wondering why I asked Robin and not someone else, let me share my reasons: she is sweet, real and in my heart’s ears, her words ring true and loud with a ritualistic element that I’ve always associated with Scott Cunningham and Wicca. I know all Wiccan Witches aren’t like Robin, but my witchy senses brought her to mind and I trust my wits.

In an oyster shell—I’m not feeling like a nut today—even if many Nature loving people are similar enough to claim one or three items from the lists above, what brings magic to our world is the fact that most of us enjoy being individuals. And together, we are as eclectic, enchanting and divine as the colors of a dancing rainbow.

Go on, my Wicked Darling Luvs, won’t you add an item or three to our lists? And do visit Wiccan Writes to read Robin’s insightful commentary on this post.

Borrowed from ChrysalisWoman

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Crow Envy and Lion-A

2012-05-04T21:13:00.000-04:00

Stacy’s witchy crow meets Laura DeLuca’s Destiny Unveiled and leaves me suffering from a serious case of crow envy. Inspired by Laura’s novel, my adored Stacy, drew the most delicious witchy crow, EVER. Look at these beauties side by side. Aren’t they awesome?

If you visit Laura DeLuca’s blog, you can get many chances to win Stacy’s witchy crow, plus a gazillion other prizes Laura is giving away to celebrate the release of her Destiny Unveiled.

Talking about prizes and things happening around the web, guess who won the “Being a Drake” contest that took place at my writing site? You are probably guessing right, Stacy from Magic Love Crow. She can paint, she is sweeter than spring breeze, she’s an organic gardening goddess, and she’s lucky, too. What a woman… no, you can’t have her, I saw her first.

Stacy Luv, congratulations, your $13 gift card is on its way ;-)

While my spirit still festive, I should tell you about my versatile blogging ways. Seriously, I’m not only malleable; I’m also pliable, adaptable, other things that end on ‘able’ and so very puttylike. I even got an award that celebrates my versatility. Thanks so much, Linda, I truly appreciate the recognition *winks in an extra elastic way*

And because with awards comes responsibilities, I have to share 7 things about me and I need to honor 5 bloggers (the rules ask for 15 bloggers, but. . . yeah, I what kind of Witch would I be if I didn’t twist the rules a bit?)

7 Things about Witchy Writer Me

1. I woke up at 5:13am to work on AlmaMia Cienfuegos’s rewrites.

2. Luna got needy, and forced me to come up with her story’s blurb before touching AlmaMia’s tale.

3. I have been wondering if sharing my writing process is boring you silly.

4. Gina says she finds my sharing “wonderfully creepy,” hm…

5. Okay, I am so going to continue blogging about my fiction writing process because Jan loves my creepy ways, too.

6. I’m fascinated by myth in fiction, and The Haunting will show just how much.

7. Luna, Leo, and Sweetooth—you’ll meet Sweetooth soon—want me to share the blurb for their story, what do you think? The month of May is supposed to be AlmaMia’s time, should I share The Haunting’s blurb now or wait?

5 Versatile Wicked Darling Bloggers I Haven’t Known for Long:

1. Jan from Shabby Elegance with a Touch of Witch

2. Cameron from Paint Myself Pretty

3. Simona from Timeless Rituals

4. Bird from Take a Left at the Moon

5. Sandi… fine, so she’s not a new blogger friend, like the award rules mandate, but I’m discovering wonderful new things about Sandi and her art. That has to count, and if it doesn’t… well, too bad, I’m still adding Crafty Sandi.

Won’t you say hello to my witchy friends?

Note to the nominees: don’t feel obligated to accept this award or to pass it forward, if you don’t wish to do so. But do smile, give yourself a hug on my behalf, and know that I think you rock ;-)

Wait!

I’m not done yet. Don’t you remember Lion-A? Actually, the award was supposed to be the end of the post, but then I ran into Shelle’s Heroes over at The Butterfly Effect, and I wanted to kind of participate, so, um… you know… I can’t resist Shelle or her call. Here are my answers to her heroic questionnaire:

1. What Super Power would you possess?

I will be able to create worlds with my words and battle stupidity with my reasoning. And sometimes, with bullets, sharp metal, fists and teeth.

2. What’s your costume of choice?

Combat boots, comfy pants, Batman’s utility belt on steroids, and Lion-O’s sword. Of course, my name would have to be Lion-A and my hair would be curly.

3. Do you have/want a sidekick?

Flying monkeys, swimming cats, and dogs with teleportation capabilities. The Furry Bunch.

4. What’s your weakness?

*protects heart and pretends the question wasn’t asked*

5. You a lover or a loner?

Lone lover *snickers at the implications*

6. Do you have a secret identity/ordinary life to juggle?

In real life, I’m a Witch Writer, don’t tell the ThunderCats.

7. Being a hero can make you enemies – who’s/what’s yours?

My arch-nemesis is Super Stupid. I rather not say more about it. It makes me angry. You don’t want to see me when I’m angry. I look terrible in green skin.

8. What’s your motto or catchphrase?

Shoot evil until it stops moving. Then poke at it with a sword, and if it twitches, stab it repeatedly.

Paint something lovely, stop by The Butterfly Effect,
and answer Shelle’s heroic inquiry for a chance to win this killer girl
(right after visiting Shelle, her blog is magic in colors):

I can’t paint, but I can relish in my friend’s colors. Look at these babies!

Gina's Archetypal Hero.
Don't you love his manly frown?

NatashaMay's Zombielicious Heroine.
Sexy mama bites!

Stacy's Crow Hero in his world saving pose.
Get them, baby!

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Hurt

2012-05-03T23:13:00.000-04:00

There is a Spanish song that says, “quien te hace llorar es quien te ama,” the one who makes you cry is the one who loves you.

It is a very famous tune and I’ve always enjoyed its beat, but I must say the song’s philosophy is a stinky pile of drunkard’s crap. The ones who make us cry are NOT the ones who love us, but the ones we let. And to make things worse, most times, the individuals we allow to step all over us happen to be the ones WE love.

Yes, I’m a little hurt right now. I shouldn’t be, but I’m human and every once in while I tend to forget the basic rules for survival. You are probably pissed off, and in serious need of an explanation, aren’t you? Sorry, I can’t stop being me just because I’m upset.

Here is the short account. A few of the most important people in my life care little about my writing, so I don’t share it with them. They can read what I post online, like the rest of the world, but they won’t get a word directly from me.

Today, someone stumbled upon my writing site and emailed one of the important people in my life. I will share part of the message because, well, reading the words makes me feel better:

“Dear X, I knew Maggy excelled in academia, the Marines and can dance like a flame, but I didn’t know she was an artist. So proud of our little Fireball.”

The email is longer, but the bits about climbing trees, hunting birds with slingshots and stealing mangoes when we were kids don’t apply to this post.

The important person in my life called me and shared the email. I was excited about the message, but more about the call… at least for a little while. My mirth was killed when the caller said, “I don’t know why Z is so happy. I’ll celebrate when I see the money.”

I ended the call without saying goodbye. I went for a long walk, and plotted a new scene for The Haunting. Then I reminded myself why I don’t share my passion with some of the people I love: they just don’t know me all that well, even if they want to pretend they do. And, of course, there is the bullshit about the one who makes me cry being the one who loves me. What a load…

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Hatred Breeds Best in the Soil of Ruined Dreams

2012-05-02T00:13:00.000-04:00

A bit of a harsh title right after Beltane, huh? I think I’ll blame the choice on Soledad. I’ve been developing the last scenes of “AlmaMia Cienfuegos,” and the ways of my main character’s big sister seems to be leaking out of the page and touching things. AlmaMia and I have spent a lot of time trying to make sense of Soledad’s behavior, and Vanesa’s, too, but we haven’t gotten to the bottom of that obscure pot.

While the investigation goes on, I’ve been reading fiction that discusses family dynamics, siblings relationships and the seemingly unexplainable odium of one being towards another; in the case of The Book Thief, unfounded hatred aimed at a particular group. This novel twisted my heart and left it raw. I cried while I read it, a few times in front of people. This is a story of life and demise, narrated by Death.

The Witch’s Boy and Reckless are different. If I had to make a comparison, I would say that the style of these two novels resembles that of “The Haunting” and The Book Thief is closer to “AlmaMia Cienfuegos.” In the first group, social issues and internal struggles are analyzed in a realm of fantasy; in the second, things just are; life happens in the world as we know it, and sometimes it bleeds salty tears that burn the eyes. Other times… well, you’ll have to do a bit of reading to see what else real life can bring to the proudly wicked.

My Favorite Quotes from these 3 Reads

The Witch’s Boy by Michael Gruber

“Hatred breeds best in the soil of ruined dreams.”

Reckless by Cornelia Funke

“The Fairy’s dress rustled as she turned. Human women dressed like flowers, layers of petals around a mortal, rotting core.”

The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak

“For me, the sky was the color of Jews.”

“When Death tells a story, you really have to listen.”

What have you read, my Wicked Luvs?

You can still join the Witchy Books Reading Challenge. Do you wanna?

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Hot and Bothered for Beltane

2012-05-01T01:31:00.000-04:00

My Piano Man and I have been busy, busy, busy lately; my lover with practicing, conducting and playing, and moi with the end of the spring semester and deadlines hovering over my witchy writer’s head. But even at our most tired-and-half-asleep moments, we haven’t been able to keep our hands off each other.

My first thought was, Hm, did I miss the full moon? Yep, some people get wolfish during this phase of the moon, I get hot and bothered and grabby. I looked out the window to see if the wheel had been turning without me, but no, The Silver Lady was only half way to her fullness. So why am I so hor…? Ah!

Yes, it took me a while, my Luvs. Like I said, my mind has been extra taxed, but I finally figured why I’ve been feeling so frolicsome these last few days: Happy Beltane!

If you, too, feel the pull of Nature wanting to get hers through your flesh and soul, be the Wickedest of all my Darlings, and give it to her ;-)

Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight,

Or he would call it a sin;

But--we have been out in the woods all night,

A-conjuring Summer in!

—Rudyard Kipling

Borrowed from A Couples Origami

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Scarred by Blood and Nightmares

2012-04-30T00:13:00.000-04:00

Most writers I know say they wanted to create stories since before they could hold a pencil properly. That wasn’t me. I’ve always known I was witchy, loved to read, and enjoyed improvising tales, but writing actual stories never crossed my mind. I was in my late twenties before I drafted a bit of fiction with the intention of sharing it with anyone other than my aloof betta fish.

However, AlmaMia Cienfuegos, a girl I’ve seen grow into a woman, has lived in my head for as long as I can remember. I know she loves her grandmother and can spend hours climbing trees and eating mangoes. She is afraid of nightmares because in them things bleed and rot. Her older sister and her mother also frighten AlmaMia, but for different reasons.

When I first met her, AlmaMia was seven-years-old, but she told me about older memories. Things that happened when she was four, and perhaps younger, but the latter were confusing confessions. We’ve walked the world together for so long that I would never confuse her scent, her giggles or her screams.

Two years ago, I realized that one day I would have to tell AlmaMia’s story. I knew there would be no way around it. But I thought that when that day came, my face would be smartened with happy wrinkles and framed with white curls.

This week, AlmaMia began to pace… she didn’t push—she’s not that type of friend—she just stared at me, the hint of a wicked smile curving the corners of her lips, and said, “I’m ready, Witch.” She didn’t ask anything, not aloud, but her dark brown eyes screamed her question straight to my heart. And I answered, “Yes, AlmaMia, I’m ready, too.”

Then I began to write… and I will continue adding words until she’s done sharing her story… even if every now and then, I desperately want to stop… for there are times, when AlmaMia’s sister and mother spook as much as they did the little girl.

Stop by my fiction site and glimpse into the life of AlmaMia Cienfuegos.

Thinking about AlmaMia’s Cienfuego’s Tale

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“Everything Exists in the Word…” Malleable

2012-04-29T00:21:00.000-04:00

Mal·le·a·ble [mal-ee-uh-buhl] adjective

1. capable of being extended or shaped by hammering or by pressure from rollers.

2. adaptable or tractable: the malleable mind of a child.

Origin: 1350–1400; Middle English

Now, the same word as defined 151 years ago:

Malleable, a. That may be drawn out and extended by beating; capable of extension by the hammer; a quality of metals, particularly of gold. Newton.

Malleable iron is cast iron, which, by a peculiar process, has been deprived of its carbon, and thus freed from its brittleness.

Yes, my malleable travel plans allowed me to return a couple of days early. And after raising an eyebrow at how words lose their “beating” violence with the years, I’ll tell you about my trip to Pre-Chaos… spending extra time with Luna, Leo and a couple of their friends was enlightening, and more emotional than I had expected.

I learned a lot about their world and wants, but the most important bit of recon I gathered—I think—was that “The Haunting” will be a lot longer than I thought. I figured I could ‘craft’ a closing in two more postings, but no, Luna and Leo want the beginning of their tale to be a novella. I want to be malleable and fair, and give the sexy, dark and bloody pair what they want. What about you, do you wanna give it to them?

The first installment of “The Haunting,” will be published at the beginning of June—after my spring semester is over. May is for AlmaMia Cienfuegos. I’ll tell you more about her mañana… at my fiction site.

What did you do while I was gone, my luvs?

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Mythica Stones Museum in Pre-Chaos, New York

2012-04-23T00:13:00.012-04:00

On June 29^th, 1982, the Mythica Stones changed the world. The appearance of the differently shaped and sized, black, green and white stones wasn’t gradual. One moment, nature looked as it always had; the next, the surface of vegetation, soil and rock was bejeweled. Mythica Stones felt slick to the touch, but their textures went from smoother than pearl to rougher than pumice.

At first, people dug them out and cut them off tree bark. The violation didn’t last long, for just milliseconds after being forced from their chosen place, the stones faded. And worse, the area or tree that had housed the stone, decayed right after separation.

The effects of the stones were first evident on babies. Some of the children born after the event looked different; most had white, black or green eyes that matched the color of their hair, except a few who were born with multicolored hair and very dark brown eyes.

For five years the eyes and the hair was as exciting as it got. Then, on the day the world remembers as Preternatural Chaos, things changed forever.

Children were ahead of the rest of the population, again. The first notable case happened on the last Monday of June, 1987, in Los Lunas, New Mexico. After spending hours shrieking and pulling on his grandmother’s skirt, a white-haired five-year-old boy, who had been diagnosed with a cognitive disability, spread his arms, froze his relatives in place, and encircled the family home in a shimmering bubble that scorched the skin of anyone who touched it from the outside.

The boy held the circle until his nose and eyes began to bleed. Two gunshots were fired the moment the circle collapsed, but no one was hurt. For faster than most eyes could follow, the boy’s older sister had ran across the street, and returned home. The grandmother remembers the girl dropping a rifle on the floor and saying to her brother, “You were right, sorry I didn’t listen. But she can’t hurt us now.” The girl had been holding the rifle with locks of her living hair, which had grown all the way to her ankles.

The Los Lunas Police found the woman who fired the rifle sitting behind an old tree that faced the boy and girl’s house. Her eyes had been unfocused and she didn’t say a word, but the picture of the kids she clutched in her hands, and the two bullet casings next to her, told the police all they needed to know.

When that incident took place, the world didn’t know that the boy was a witch or that his sister’s speed, and ability to enthrall others with her dark eyes, mimicked that of a Caribbean mythical creature called ciguapa.

Today, the case of the witch boy and the ciguapa girl, as well as all other instances of myth becoming reality, is world history that can be researched online. But if you are anything like me, you might get extra enjoyment from the look, scent and feel of a museum. That is the reason why I’m going to visit Pre-Chaos, New York, and stay there for a week. I have many questions about Luna’s world, and as much as I trust the witch, there are some things I would rather pull out of a flesheater’s mouth.

Don’t worry about my safety, my Wicked Darlings, I have pen and paper at the ready. Okay, laptop and fingertips, but that’s not the point. What matters is that if something scares me, I won’t hesitate to write a big gun and shoot its face off.

If you have any questions for anyone you’ve met through “The Haunting,” leave it here as a comment and I’ll relate your inquiry. Read you in eight days!

Ciguapa:
“a supernatural female being living in the deepest mountain regions of the Dominican Republic.” To learn more about them, click on the image, which I borrowed from The Phoenenixian Book of Creatures.

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Coffee that Darwin Loves, and Theologians Fear

2012-04-22T00:13:00.015-04:00

Every once in a while, I read a book that makes me think, laugh and nod with every turn of the page. I’m usually the one who picks out such book, but with The Feedstore Chronicles, I must thank Debra from She Who Seeks for the adventure.

Travis Erwin’s book is adventure about life, laughter, livestock and of Snuggles, too. The latter is a pooch that proves nature can have the nastiest sense of humor.

Its comicality is not the only reason why I like The Feedstore Chronicles so much—the endless sacks of laughter did help me enjoy it, though. However,Travis Erwin won me over because his words took me to a world I would have never experienced otherwise. And you know what? I had a blast while I explored his bit of Texas. I delight in fiction that makes my belly hurt with laughter. And when the storytelling is weaved with reality, I just love the result.

Here are a couple of quotes that made me look like a happy fool, in the train, because I couldn’t stop roaring while reading (say the last 3 words 13 times fast):

“Pearls was the redneck equivalent of Starbucks. However, our coffee was the kind of dark, smelly fare that only men would drink, and I’m pretty sure they only drank it to prove the potency of their testosterone. I’m talking about the kind of coffee that makes a person growl after every swallow. The kind of coffee that grows gills when left on overnight. Or sprouts legs over a long weekend. The kind of coffee that Darwin loves, and theologians fear. Never mind putting hair on your chest, the feedstore java put hair on your tongue.” Evolutionism, caffeine and creationism, what’s not to love?

I borrowed this lovely coffee monster from I See .JPEGS Animate.

And there is philosophy, too; for “Confucius say, man with hole in pocket, feel cocky.” Suffice to say, Doyles’s pockets were holier than Billy Graham and Mother Teresa combined. Doyle didn’t simply feel cocky, he had a stranglehold on cocky. He grabbed it with both hands, stroked it, and shouted, “Danger! I piss on thee.” Doyle is one of those archetypal characters I love to hate, and will never forget. Travis, the main character in the tale, is lively, honest, and witty, and owns a heart that barely fits in his overgrown young adult frame. Grab a copy; you might just enjoy it as much as I did.

Care to share a title that surprised you in the best of ways, my Wicked Luv?

And not that I think you would forget, but here it is anyway.

Give our good old Earth Mother an extra tight hug,

today, and tomorrow, and after that, too.

Borrowed from SeaWayBlog

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Wholesome Souls and Severed Limbs

2012-04-20T08:28:00.000-04:00

We’ve all heard of good things gone bad,

of bad things gone worse,

and of awful things that transmogrify into crap.

But every now and then, a crappy thing just excites the feisty muse.

Yesterday, I experienced the latter.

I was listening to essays for school, some of which existed somewhere between lame and burn-worthy, so of course I needed to do something to busy the side of my mind that kept on asking, Why am I reading this? The whiner side of my brain can be easily distracted with pretty colors and shifting shapes; I played with my blogs’ layouts while I listened.

My sidebar was the first to feel the effects of my boredom. I got rid of pictures, added this and that, tweaked titles and so on. I changed the header for my writing site widget from “sexy, dark and wicked” to “where dark fiction is born kicking, screaming and many times slashing.” A few minutes later, a Wicked Darling who keeps a watchful eye on my sidebar *sidebar grins smugly* emailed me to ask, “Is that the kind of message you want to promote?”

I shared part of the exchange on Facebook. Soon after my timeline got some attention, the same person messaged me with a string of insults so nasty that my mind couldn’t decide between feeling outrage or admiration—it ended up choosing neither.

However, witchy writer me understands that every bit of criticism should be examined. I followed that thought. After a close inspection, I noticed that between the swearing and the name-calling, the individual made some sense. She suggested that my “Luna story sucks because the character has no motivation and no soul.”

I should have pointed out to this watchful being that “The Haunting” is currently a very rough draft, but I didn’t do such thing. Instead, I used that time to work on editing Luna and Leo’s story.

I’m very happy to say that the beginning of the story is now established—I wasn’t completely thrilled with “Luna Bravo hunted flesheaters.” Also, I will start sharing the updates in a few days, for I don’t want to share the ending without completing some of the rewrites. The story is gaining muscle and bone, my Wicked Luvs, and I can’t wait to show it off!

Oh, before I forget, I’ve changed the header of my writing site widget. I wanted it to match my new tagline, which now reads, “Sexy, Dark and Bloody Fiction Sprinkled with Wholesome Souls and Severed Limbs.”

Bloody, fanged, grinning smiley borrowed from SuperFicie.

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Sexy, Dark and Bloody Fiction Party Winners

2012-04-19T00:13:00.000-04:00

I hope you had as much fun as I did during the Sexy, Dark & Bloody Fiction party, my Wicked Luvs, because I had a blast. And just like with Witches in Fiction, this party taught me some things:

1. Thirteen days is a long time, so perhaps next year I’ll reduce the festivities to a 3-day weekend. What do you think?

2. I have to make the party rules more straightforward, particularly when it comes to sponsors. I confused a lot of people. Maybe I can practice clarity during this year’s All Hallow’s Grim *wink, wink*

3. The more I do this, the more I like it!

Well, I want to thank all the sexy, dark and bloody fiction participants. You can find wicked partiers and sponsors on the Party page. The event wouldn’t have been half as fun without you. Actually, it wouldn’t have existed without you, so gracias very much!

Fine, I’ll get to it. I present you,

The 2012 Sexy, Dark and Bloody Fiction Party Winners:

The Haunting ----- Mina

Hidden Salem ----- Lilac Wolf (Angie or Angela)

Crows ----- Polly "Fly" and "Soup's Ready," Gina "If the Broom Fits," Simona Cordara "Newbie" and "Magic," and Hex "Dancing with My Friend"

Prudence and The Sick Rose ----- LJ Rich

Of Wands and Gourds and Friends ----- Jan

Lust, Fight, Soul, Mercy and Fire ----- Tori

Ciguapa ----- SunshineShelle

Blue-Green Ice ----- Geckostone

The New Death and others ----- I'll announce a winner on 4/30

Sugar and Cyanide ----- Aphrodisiastes

Enthralled ----- Carmen Esposito

A Sexy, Dark and Bloody Phantom for a New Generation ----- Magic Love Crow

Dark and Bloody ----- Keltikmystique

Congrats, my Wicked Winners.
Send me your mailing information to magalyguerrero @ live . com

And now, to plan for All Hallow's Grim2012.

I have not come up with a theme yet, ideas are welcomed. Any thoughts?

Edited 4/19/12 9:53 pm

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“Everything Exists in the Word…” Lover

2012-04-18T00:13:00.000-04:00

Sometime back, I shared a quote from Pablo Neruda, but didn’t tell you that it contained my favorite bit of writing in the entire universe. I’m turned on by what those words say and the way they are put together. When I recite them, and I do it often, my heart jumps and giggles and my brain dreams dark fiction.

So when I opened my birthday present, and I saw my Piano Man had outdone himself, again, I understood I had to share my new-old word-baby with my Wicked Darlings—often, too.

Every Wednesday, ~~until I forget or get too busy or just well, you know how that works~~, I will take a word from my 151-year-old dictionary and compare its old definition to its modern meaning. While I typed this, my heartthrob lay next to me in bed, wearing nothing but glasses and a grin, so my first choice was obvious:

Lover - lov·er[luhv-er] noun

1. a person who is in love with another.

2. a person who has a sexual or romantic relationship with another.

3. a person with whom one conducts an extramarital sexual affair.

4. a person who has a strong enjoyment or liking for something, as specified: a lover of music.

5. a person who loves, especially a person who has or shows a warm and general affectionate regard for others: a lover of mankind.

Origin: 1175–1225; Middle English; see love, -er1

Now, the same word as defined 151 years ago:

Lover, n. One who loves; one who has a tender affection, particularly for a female.

Love is blind, and lovers cannot see. Shak.

2. A friend; one who regards with kindness.

Your brother and his lover have embraced. Shak.

3. One who likes or is pleased with anything; as, a lover of books or of science; a lover of wine; a lover of religion.

Any thoughts on lover’sevolution?

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My Lover Rocked My World, Again

2012-04-16T00:13:00.000-04:00

I was going to wait until after the Sexy, Dark & Bloody Fiction party was over, and the winners were announced, to share the cutest birthday presents in the world. But my heart couldn’t keep the secret any longer. These are not the official pictures—the ones of me screaming and hugging my 151-year-old dictionary—those pictures will come later. Today, I’m sharing the gifts from three special people: my Piano Man, the Little Princess and Oma Linda.

My lover rocked my world, again. Last year I got an antique typewriter, which I was sure was the best present. EVER. Then I opened this baby:

I wish you could touch it, smell it, and enjoy the way words have changed over the years. Okay, so you’ll get the chance to do latter, for I’ll share as I read. And in case you are worried about the state of your soul, don’t be. The 1861 Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary is “Authorized literature of the first Church of Christ, Scientist in Boston, Massachusetts.” Don’t believe me? I have proof:

After my entire being and soul stopped bursting and squealing with delight, my heart was melted by the Little Princess; she made me a frog evolution chain (will share that later) and the most adorable bookmark. The one with a rainbow, a turtle and frogs is from her. And the one with the whimsical camouflaged frog is from my Piano Man. Yes, this Witch loves her frogs.

Then Oma Linda completed my birthday bliss with charm and originality. I’m not showing all the gifts, for I’m using some for spells and I don’t usually share those. But here are the ones that have become part of my ever growing altar. I can’t remember how much time I spent playing with this little donkey and his heart, and with what has to be the perfect skull for me. In case you can’t see it, the skull has a number 13 on it!

And what Witch can be truly lucky without the sea in a charm?

Actually, you get to see one more of Oma Linda’s gifs. See that flowery cauldron with the petals and the feather? Yep, from my Oma!

Here are a few more pictures of my Spring 2012 altar space.

The biggest present I got this year exists only in my heart, and perhaps in every one of my smiles. I have my Piano Man, who couldn’t be more perfect if I had conjured him myself. I have a Little Princess, who surprises me every day and reminds me why children are the best thing this world has to offer. I have Oma Linda, who I can only describe as a third grandmother. And I have all the happiness that knowledge provides… plus a garden of witchy sisters, and brothers, and… yeah, that, too.

I’m a happy 35-year-old Witch.

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Dark and Bloody, The Haunting, Part 5 of 7

2012-04-13T03:13:00.000-04:00

First, read “The Haunting,” “Crows,” “Ciguapa” and “Enthralled,”

parts one, two, three and four of this story.

Yep, my Wicked Luvs, for this tale, the order matters.

The bad feeling in Luna’s gut began to fizzle the instant Leo Drake said they needed to turn left from Noyes Street into Sunset Avenue. When they stopped at the corner of Sunset and Mulberry, everything inside Luna bubbled over and morphed into trepidation. Her house was less than a block away. If Jeff Drake, Leo’s brother, had lived anywhere near her home, Luna would have known. So where was Leo taking her?

Her doubts were replaced by a stronger sense of dread. “Wait,” Luna grabbed Leo by the arm. “Can you smell that?” When Leo shook his head no, she pulled him closer to her, and whispered, “What does pain smell like to you?” Luna couldn’t smell emotions like Leo did, but her mind had an eye for blood, pain, fear and death.

“It’s different from person to person, but usually it’s a peppery stink.” Leo raised his chin and flared his nostrils. “I don’t smell anything out of the ordinary,” he said.

“Are we close to your brother’s place?” She thought about keeping her mind’s dark and bloody images to herself, but reconsidered when Leo pointed at the last building in her block. She pushed him away from her, and her right hand flew to her shoulder holster. “I’ve known the guy who lives in that apartment for a very long time, and I know the JD the butcher is not your brother. So what the f…” Her gun hand fell to her side. “JD,” she emphasized each letter in a low voice. “Jeff Drake?”

“Jeffery Drake, actually,” Leo rubbed the spot on his chest where Luna’s shove had smacked him. “Remember what I told you about Jeff and meat?” Leo continued without waiting for a response. “My brother lives under The Soothing Whip.”

Luna saved her astonishment for later. Tanned and tall, six-foot-three, white-haired, and very middle class, JD, might have looked nothing like Leo Drake, but the pride and love springing out of the ciguapa when he talked about the butcher was as strong as the horror oozing out JD’s basement apartment. She walked in front of Leo, and gripped him by the arm. Again, Luna wished she could see his eyes. “I don’t want to scare you, Leo, but there is a lot of pain emanating out of that building.”

Leo grinned and looked away. “Have you ever been inside The Soothing Whip?”

“Yes, Leo, I have. I’ve seen what they sell, too.” She let go of his arms. “I also know the person who provides the club with containment charms. You use soundproofing spells, right?”

“Sure, but—”

Luna interrupted him. “The Soothing Whip uses emotion-proofing spells in addition to magic that traps sound. And trust me; the person who crafts for them is the best. I shouldn’t be sensing any pain, or anything, coming out of the club.”

“I thought,” Leo sniffed the air. “Gods, you’re right. I never smelled anything this hot and rancid out here. Not even inside.”

“You shouldn’t be able to,” Luna looked towards the plain, two-story, brick building. “They do everything inside containment circles.”

“That scream,” Leo faced the club.

“I didn’t hear anything. Leo stop!” Luna shouted after him, but the ciguapa was already gone. Before she ran three steps to catch up to him, Leo had crashed into her, and together, they fell behind some bushes. Reflexes had the muzzle of her M9 under his chin. “Damn you! Are you insane?”

Leo didn’t seem to notice gun. “Something’s wrong. My brother’s door is locked. Ele and Eme are trapped inside. Ele was the one screaming,” he shook his head. “She’s not the screaming type, Luna. I think she was the one blocking the door with magic, saying to come in, but not without you, and not looking like…” Leo stopped talking and touched his face. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” Luna said, “oh.” She breathed him in and moaned when his scent heated her middle. Leo’s dark glasses and mask of braids were gone. Luna wanted him. He had landed on top of her; his long hair caressing her neck, the curls flowing around her face as if they were underwater. His body felt hard and hot against hers. Luna looked into large, spooked, thick-lashed, brown eyes that were fixed on her. She was about to taste Leo Drake, but her mind was flooded by the image of a crow struggling in a cloud of blood and darkness, and she pushed Leo off. “We need to get in there.” Gasping, Luna got to her feet.

“No,” Leo yelled. “I mean, yes,” he raked fingers through his hair, and cradled his head with both hands. “Ele’s so loud. Can you hear her? She says to keep from being seen, that’s why I, you know,” he pointed at his exposed face. Can you so something to look different?”

“I can go home and change real quick,” Luna said, and began running to her house.

“We don’t have that much time,” Leo matched her step for step.

“We don’t need much time.” Luna stopped next to a white MINI Cooper, opened the passenger side door and rummaged through the glove box.

“You can’t steal a car!”

In a different situation, Luna would have laughed at Leo’s outrage. But the ciguapa’s brother was probably dead and she needed to find out how and why, so Luna just shook her head. “This is my car,” she told him, and cocking her head in the direction of the old Victorian looming to her right, she added, “I live there. Come on.” The planks squeaked when Luna walked across the deck to get to her front door. “Put this around your neck, make sure the pouch touches your skin, and wait here,” she said, before leaving Leo in the foyer and dashing to her bedroom.

If her bedroom had a door, Luna would have slammed it and leaned against its hard wood, but she had spent every penny she had buying Old Tori outright. She loved the idea of not having a mortgage, even if Old Tori was falling apart. Leo Drake in my house, she thought as she stepped out of her boots and peeled off her jeans. After removing her jacket, holster and everything else, she stood in front of the mirror wearing only a black and white stone pentacle around her neck. She breathed in and out, squeezed the smooth stone, and removed the necklace.

She hadn’t dropped her camouflage in a long time, and the change wasn’t instant like when her energy was at its peak. “You need to have sex with someone else,” she told the white-eyed woman in the silver glass. Luna was a sex witch. And physical intimacy with no one but herself, in the last five months and twenty-eight days, was beginning to affect her magic.

Luna’s eyes were first to reclaim their natural form. A very thin black line encircled the white irises and matched the pupils in color. When the only painful part of her transmutation began to take place, she doubled over grabbing her middle, and her forehead hit the top of the dresser. A jewelry box crashed on the wood floor, sending earrings and loose change everywhere.

“Luna!” Leo had probably been in her foyer when he called her name, but he was standing in front of her, his hands around her waist, when he asked, “you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Luna answered, after looking down and seeing that the thirteen black, moon-shaped, Mythica Stones she had been born with, had already burst through her skin in their usual new to full moon row that went from the middle of her chest to her navel. She looked at the mirror and ran her fingers through her short, black and white hair. “Everything is fine, you can let go now. I need to get dressed.”

“Yes, dressed,” he said, his eyes swallowing her entire body. “You look amazing,” he babbled, “your eyes, your hair, everything, just stunning.” His eyes widened. “I’m not saying you aren’t absolutely beautiful without the glamour,” he scratched his head. “It’s just that I, I really love this.” He framed the space around her body with his hands.

Luna laughed. She couldn’t help it. She was naked with Leo Drake standing in her bedroom, and he loved her birthday suit. “I need to get dressed. We need to go.”

“Sure, go ahead.” Leo sat on her bed and watched her.

“You could,” she shook her head, “never mind just sit there.” She walked to the closet, thinking, I’m a sex witch and he’s a ciguapa, I’d be dead if his eyes on me didn’t make me feel like this. She grabbed a short red and black dress her aunt Belladonna had forced her to buy a couple of months ago. The full skirt gave her room to conceal her blade, and the halter top with low cut neckline would keep most eyes away from her face. She put on the dress, slipped into a pair of black boy-cut shorts, and sat on the bed next to Leo to lace up her combat boots. “You’re wearing the charm I gave you?”

“Of course,” Leo said.

“Good,” Luna stood up and fastened the blade’s strap around her right thigh. “Come here, I need to touch your skin to invoke the charm.” If she wasn’t so magically weak at that moment, she wouldn’t need to touch him. She lifted Leo’s t-shirt and closed her eyes. With her open palm on his chest, she pressed against the herb-filled pouch. The faint scent of lavender and ginger reached her nose. Luna opened her eyes. “I was afraid of that,” she said after lifting the side of her dress and seeing her dark moon-coated blade flickering in and out of sight. The shoes she had visualized for Leo, were behaving in the same manner.

“It’s fine,” Leo said when he looked at his feet. “I can run home and get shoes. It will take less than two minutes.”

“The spell covers more than your feet and my blade,” Luna sighed. “It camouflages magic types and scents. The Soothing Whip is full of Mythicals, they will know me. And my true form would call too much attention, she added in her thoughts. Tell you what, Leo, show me the back door to JD’s apartment, then run inside and open the door for—”

“No!”

Luna didn’t recognize the crackly voice that screamed the single word into her head, but she knew it had come from one of the crows. “Did you hear her?” Luna pressed her fingertips to her temples.

Leo nodded. “It’s Ele.”

“Okay,” Luna shook her head and tried not to think about the bloody images flashing inside her mind. “Sing to me,” with her hands crossed over her chest, she began to caress her breasts. “From ‘The Haunting,’ that should do it.”

“Sing?” Leo blinked.

“Yes, you’re a singer, aren’t you?” she hadn’t meant to snap at him, but the images were getting worse. “Sorry, I’ll explain later, but you need to sing to me. The first verse until I tell you to stop.”

“Okay. ‘The Haunting.’ Sing.” Leo took a deep breath, and sang:

She was burned by blind hate

Reborn blind out of the fire

Her charm and darkness keeps me safe

My Haunting slayer, my sweet, my dire

Luna moaned and swayed as Leo chanted her favorite four lines, over and over again. She summoned the memory of the first evening her magic had manifested. She had been seventeen, Leo’s voice streaming out of her stereo, her hands touching all the places that had been warmed by the sound of his words. Eight years ago, her mirror and every glass item in her room had exploded when she did. Now, with Leo’s hands on her skin, her body began to tense, and the scent of lavender, ginger and lust made the air hard to breathe. “Stop, stop, stop!” Luna gasped against Leo’s chest. “Not all the way. I need the energy.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. Leo’s eyes glowed green. His hair formed a dark forest of springs, summers, falls, and winters that hovered around his head and upper body, and glided over Luna’s breasts.

“Luna,” Leo licked his lips. “What was that?”

“Sex magic,” Luna said, and pointed at Leo’s feet. “You have shoes now. Let’s go.” Bursting with magic, Luna sashayed out of the bedroom.

“Sex magic,” Leo repeated, walking next to Luna.

“Guess you’ve never been with a witch before,” Luna said in a voice that sounded more certain than she felt. She had never reached that level of arousal with anyone. The power heated her flesh and did strange things to her mind.

“No,” Leo shook his head. “I’ve never been with anyone, not like that.”

Those words, combined with the look on Leo’s face and the stiffness in his pants, made Luna smile. She stepped out of the house. “Hold my hand,” she told him. “Don’t let go until we reach your brother’s door.”

***

As you read, this fifth part of “The Haunting” is quite long, and no, it is not the end of the story. It seems that Luna and Leo want to stretch things out. This is the danger of the share-as-I-write method. But don’t worry, my Wicked Luvs, “The Haunting” will conclude before the end of April. I think it will take me 1500-2000 additional words to get there. And then to edit and rewrite—I bet you are dying to get to that point *stop rolling your eyes so hard, you’ll give yourself a headache*.

Blame the length of the story on “Fear” by Magic Love Crow. Seriously; that bird won’t go away. Just cawing and cawing, ‘Witch, write about me or else.’

While I write until the crow is pleased, I have the Wicked Darlings’ Choice Giveaway (sponsored by the Wickedest Witch of Them All) to keep you entertained:

-$20.13 to spend on witchy fiction (online stores only, but you can choose print and/or ebook)

-$20.13 to spend at your favorite “witchy enough” Etsy shop

-$20.13 to spend at the shop of any partier or sponsor (‘cause they are awesome)

This is all you need to do to enter with wicked fun giveaway:

1. Read parts 1-5 of “The Haunting,” and leave a relevant comment on each.

2. Follow Pagan Culture and my writing site – yes, I want to keep you.

Extra Entries:

1. Blog about this entry, and leave a link to the post

2. Tweet about this entry, and leave a link to the tweet

3. Share this entry on Facebook, and leave a link

4. Follow Pagan Culture on Twitter

5. Visit partiers and sponsors (posts listed on the sidebar), leave a relevant comment, then let me know you did. (Each visit/comment is worth one entry).

* This giveaway ends April 17^th at 3:13pm EST.

** The lucky winner will be chosen via Randomizer. I’ll announce her or his name on April 19^th at 12:13am EST. Great luck, my Luvs ;-)

I hoped you enjoyed the Sexy, Dark & Bloody Fiction,

Pagan Culture’s 3^rdBlogoversary party!

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A Sexy, Dark and Bloody Phantom for a New Generation

2012-04-12T05:13:00.000-04:00

Guest Post by Laura DeLuca

I was so excited to see that this year’s party theme was going to be about breaking stereotypes. My newest novel, Phantom, recently released from Pagan Writers Press, is about much the same thing. The story is a modern day version of the “Phantom of the Opera”.

In my book, a high school is performing the musical and a Gothic Pagan, who goes by Lord Justyn, is cast in the role of the Phantom. Much like the character he portrays, Justyn finds himself an outcast among his average, everyday classmates, especially when strange things start to happen on and off the stage.

The original Phantom was hated and feared because of the scars on his face, and Justyn finds himself in the same position because of the clothes he wears. To quote Justyn himself,

“The Phantom is supposed to teach you that it isn’t the way someone looks that makes him a monster, but the way he’s treated that can turn him into one.”

This is one witch who is definitely dark and sexy. But you’ll have to read the book to find out whether or not he followed in the original Phantom’s footsteps and got a little bloody. You can order Phantom on Amazon or direct from Pagan Writers Press.

Phantom by Laura DeLuca

***

I’m convinced Laura chose the above quote just so I couldn’t keep myself from reading her book. Don’t you, too, want to know more about Justyn and his world? Well, my Wicked Luvs, I will have to buy my own book, but one of you will get a copy of Phantom, one crystal point, a geode, and two boxes of incense as a gift.

This is all you need to do to enter this giveaway:

1. What do you think about Justyn’s words?

2. Spread the word (on Facebook or Twitter or your blog…) let everyone know about the release of Phantom by Laura DeLuca and leave me a link.

Extra Entries:

1. Be a Wicked Darling (follow Pagan Culture)

2. Blog about this entry, and leave a link to the post

3. Tweet about this entry, and leave a link to the tweet

4. Follow my writing site

5. Follow Laura DeLuca’s blog

* This giveaway ends April 17^th at 12:13pm EST.

** The lucky winner will be chosen via Randomizer. I’ll announce her or his name on April 19^th at 12:13am EST. Great luck, my Luvs ;-)

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Enthralled, The Haunting, Part 4 of 7

2012-04-11T01:13:00.000-04:00

First, read “The Haunting,” “Crows” and “Ciguapa,”

parts one, two and three of this story.

Yep, my Wicked Luvs, for this tale, the order matters.

Luna Bravo stood less than three feet from Leo Drake, the musician who taught her that wet dreams had little to do with rain. She gawked at him and reasoned, I must be dreaming. But her fantasies had never included near-arrest experiences, crow rescue, or severed body parts vanishing when no one was looking.

She should have been trying to figure out what happened during the last thirty minutes; blood and bone were not meant to poof into nothingness. Yet that weirdness would have to wait. At that moment, Luna’s senses were wholly claimed by Leo Drake. The ciguapa was enthrallment made flesh. She wanted to feel him. Thoughts of Leo naked on his back, with his strong pale hips trapped under her quivering thighs, made Luna go hot and soft from neck to crotch. She covered her lips to swallow a moan.

“You know,” Leo said, the sound of his voice increasing the tingling between Luna’s thighs. “I’m enjoying the noises you’re making, and the way you’re caressing your lips is driving me positively mad, but I agree with Ele and Eme, staring at each other in the dark, standing at the exact place where a flesheater just tried to dine on your face, feels far from wise.”

Luna stopped touching her mouth and scrutinized the crows. “Did they just cackle?” The cawing of the crows sounded like crackling laughter.

“Ele did,” Leo shook his head, “Eme has manners.”

“My gun, please.” Luna extended a hand, and Leo gave her the M9. She pulled it out of the plastic bag, where the young cop had placed it earlier, and stuck it in her shoulder holster. With the added weight, the rough leather pushed against a tender spot on her back. Luna uttered a mental groan. Her tanned skin didn’t bruise easily, but she was sure there would be purpling the next day. “I didn’t know ciguapas could talk to birds,” Luna watched as Ele and Eme circled around her and Leo.

“I don’t think we can.” Leo tapped his shoulder and one of the birds landed on it. “I just know Ele and Eme very well.” He tapped his other shoulder, but the second crow chose to hover around Luna’s left side, instead. Leo made a sound of disgust, but Luna saw a smile curve his lips. “If you don’t mind that traitor resting on you,” he said to Luna, “just pat your shoulder a couple of times.”

Luna laughed, and mimicked Leo’s earlier tapping gesture. She flinched when sharp claws pierced through her black jean jacket, and nicked her skin. “Who’s who?”

“This is Eme,” Leo pointed at the small bird perching close enough to his neck to kiss it. “The traitor clinging to you is Ele. You can tell it’s her, because she always does whatever she wants.” Ele screeched and Leo added, “She’s also quite fond of screaming her less than polite thoughts into my head.”

Luna tensed. Earlier, when she tried calming the crows so they would stop attacking Jackson, she had searched for the minds of nearby birds but found only chaos that was common to humans. She guessed Grosso and the struggling young cop were interfering with her animal call. She wasn’t so sure anymore. “I thought you couldn’t speak to them.” Luna began to walk fast, swinging her arms extra hard to see if Ele would fly off. The crow didn’t move.

Leo caught up to Luna in a flash. “Burnt sugar,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Luna cocked her head towards Leo, but increased the speed of her steps. She wanted to get to an area more public and better illuminated than the side of the Drake’s wall.

“Burnt sugar,” he repeated. “Your distrust smells like burnt sugar. Sweet and toasty.”

Luna pulled the collar of her red t-shirt and sniffed. Then she stopped. “Look, I appreciate you showing up when you did, but I don’t know what’s going on.” She took a step back when Leo’s hand aimed to grab her arm. “And earlier…” she wavered for a second, but decided to go for it. “Earlier, I was about to throw myself at you. I know a ciguapa can make me do stuff even if I don’t want to, and—”

“And I know witches eat babies, fly on brooms, and dance bare-breasted under the full moon to please their demonic lovers.” Leo crossed his arms. “Too bad the moon’s dark tonight and I’m not feeling all that demonic right now.”

Luna lowered her eyes. She examined the way the toes of her worn out combat boots no longer matched the sharpness of the black jeans hugging her legs. “That was nonsense,” she said, but what she wanted was to smack herself bloody. Yes, there was definitely something odd going on, but alienating the one person who had stood up for her was plain stupid. So what if Leo Drake could talk to a couple of crows? Her aunt Sybil could communicate with most living things, and she was only a witch, not a creature of the wild like a ciguapa. “I apologize,” she looked at his face and wished she could see through the dark glasses that hid his green eyes. “I—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Leo said with a little smile.

Even though the glasses and the mask of braids were covering most of Leo’s face, Luna could tell that the smile was forced. “I mean it, Leo.” His name did something strange to her tongue and her breathing. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just,” Luna spread her arms. “All this, tonight,” she ran a hand through her short white hair. “I don’t know what’s going on. I, I need to go home and see if I can make sense of it all.”

“Ele and Eme saw you cut off the flesheater’s arm,” Leo began moving again, but stopped when he reached the corner of the wall. “They also said the arm was gone after the thing jumped into my mother’s house.”

“But you said you couldn’t—”

“Let me finish,” Leo lowered his voice. There were a few women walking through the Drake’s gate. “I can’t talk to birds or any other animal that doesn’t speak English or Spanish. I’ll tell you about Ele and Eme later. Now, I need to go check on my brother. He was supposed to be at my mother’s party, but he didn’t show. That’s not like Jeff. I’m worried. You aren’t the only one freaking out over disappearing corpses, Miss Bravo.”

“Luna,” her voice was soft. Her empathy didn’t come with the ability to smell emotions like Leo’s did, but she was a witch; she couldn’t feel a soul in distress without wanting to soothe it. “Just Luna, please.”

“Luna,” he moved closer to her. “I’m not armed” he sighed. “Fine, I’ve never shot a gun, and I have a feeling I might need one tonight. I don’t trust Grosso, and he is in charge of all the security around my mother’s house. Would you, I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I really—”

“I’ll go with you.” Luna squeezed Leo’s arm. “Just lead the way.”

“Thanks.” Leo bent down, removed his black running shoes, and flung them over the wall. He must have felt Luna’s eyes on him because without looking up, he said, “A bit of ciguapa physiology,” Leo pulled off his socks, too, “like cheetahs, we have tough feet and semi-retractable claws. For braking, you know?”

“No, I didn’t.” Luna looked at Leo’s feet. At first, they seemed like anyone else’s. Then he pushed himself up on the balls of his feet, and each of his black toenails extended into cat-like claws. “That’s incredible,” she said.

“And gross,” Leo chuckled as he sent the socks to meet the shoes on the other side of the wall. “How do you feel about raw meat?”

“No, not gross,” Luna shook her head, “just really awesome. I’ve heard about ciguapas’ feet and bone structure being different, but I had no idea about…” she paused and swallowed. “What was that about raw meat?”

“Ele, Eme go ahead and see if you find something this time around.” Leo crossed the street after the crows.

“Raw meat?” Luna repeated as she tried not to get distracted by the grace of Leo’s body as he glided barefoot.

“It’s Jeff’s place,” Leo turned to look at Luna. “If you have something against meat, my brother’s house might make you feel out of sorts.”

Luna didn’t say anything as she walked next to Leo, but her mind’s voice was chanting about clawed ciguapas, vanishing corpses, sentient crows and raw meat.

Dark and Bloody, The Haunting, Part 5 of 7

***

While I am on the topic of sensual enthrallment, let me introduce you to the subject of today’s giveaway. She is Sexy, Dark and Bloody Fiction party turned candle, by the artsy, witchy, crafty hands of Sandi Crawford over at The Enchanted Garden.

“The candle is made with soy wax and scented with essential oils, herbs, and resins. It is… scented with Dragon’s Blood. The drips are black wax scented with Amber and Clove oils [yum!], and decorated with a black satin ribbon, black tulle, and a silver moon and stars charm. The top is dusted with black and blood-red glitter.”

I am in love with this candle—enthralled by my mind’s reproduction of its scent. Also, I am extremely jealous right now, my Wicked Luvs, for one of you will get to delight in the glory of this flame.

This is all you need to do to enter this hot giveaway:

1. Share your thoughts on Ele and Eme. Psychoanalyze the crows, my Luvs.

2. Visit The Enchanted Garden, and come back here to tell me about your favorite item, and why you want to get your witchy claws on it.

Extra Entries:

1. Be a Wicked Darling (follow Pagan Culture)

2. Blog about this entry, and leave a link to the post

3. Tweet about this entry, and leave a link to the tweet

4. Follow my writing site

5. Favor The Enchanted Garden on Etsy

* This giveaway ends April 17^th at 12:13pm EST.

** The lucky winner will be chosen via Randomizer. I’ll announce her or his name on April 19^th at 12:13am EST. Great luck, my Luvs ;-)

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Sugar and Cyanide

2012-04-10T00:13:00.000-04:00

The writer of Sugar and Cyanideand artist behind Desert Heart Beads design, is “a Texan landed in Michigan, a certified Sign Language Interpreter, mom of three girls, Bead freak and jewelry artisan, Zombie lover, middle-aged drama queen, lover of God and Goddess, blah blah blah...” As the “blahs” suggests, Penny is one of those special souls that oozes its way into a person’s life, and infects everything it touches with awesomeness, wit and sarcasm.

When it comes to non-stereotypes, Penny’s picture should top the word in the dictionary. I could list many traits to show her uniqueness, but I’ll let the piece she is giving away for the Sexy, Dark & Bloody Fiction party do the work for me. These prayer beads are a reflection of this witchy woman.

I was going to share why I believe the prayer beads say so much about Penny and her wicked lovely soul, but I’ll save that thought for my after-party comments. I’m more interested in knowing what kind of feelings the prayer beads evoke in you.

So, this is all you need to do to enter this giveaway:

1. What feelings do Penny’s prayer beads evoke in you?

2. Visit Desert Heart Beads designs, and then come back to tell me what piece you like best and why.

Extra Entries:

1. Be a Wicked Darling (follow Pagan Culture)

2. Blog about this entry, and leave a link to the post

3. Tweet about this entry, and leave a link to the tweet

4. Follow my writing site

5. Follow Sugar and Cyanide

* This giveaway ends April 17^th at 12:13pm EST.

** The lucky winner will be chosen via Randomizer. I’ll announce her or his name on April 19^th at 12:13am EST. Great luck, my Luvs ;-)

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The New Death and others

2012-04-09T01:13:00.000-04:00

Guest Post by Lilac Wolf

When Magaly asked me to review this, I wasn’t sure how I would fit it in. Then I read the first story and The New Death and others had me hooked, and I readily agreed. I highlighted so many quotes that gave me pause or made me chuckle… some did both. There was an underlying heaviness to every poem or story. Some subtle and others not so much; like the ones making commentary on the state of affairs of our society and the political system we currently support.

I especially loved the fast moving tales that took the tone of an ancient myth. Take the first tale, where James Hutchings tells the story of how the gods met to decide who took care of the different people and animals, and when it came time to decide on the poor...

“There was a long pause. The gods shuffled their feet and avoided one another’s gaze. At last a voice broke the silence. “I will,” said Death.”

I can’t possibly use all the passages that I highlighted. In “Everlasting Fire,” the author makes light of his use of puns… even saying he doesn’t do that anymore. But there follows plenty of stories where he goes hog-wild with them. He also has a thing for mimes. Mr. Hutchings is unafraid to use big words. And more than once I was happy my Nook has a built in dictionary. “Thaumaturge” was used a few times… and I had to look it up for each use.

I was a quarter of the way in before I realized this wasn’t a multiple author work. Bravo! The words danced through the pages. The humor was light and everything was fairly easy to take whilst being simultaneously intense. Nothing very gross or terrifying. But there were more than a few times where a story made me gasp in surprise at the ending or the terror and tragedy within the tale. Here’s a quote from a poem that left me weeping for the unloved child the narrator is.

“I ate your food and slept beneath your roof, that’s normal for a child.”

“The joking-but-not-joking way you said you couldn’t wait until I turned eighteen so you could pack my bags and then give me a bill has worn my gratitude away…”

But then he gets light again with a tale of cats attempting world domination:

“There was a great anger against cats. But then the cats did a cute look and mewed pathetically, so everyone forgave them.”

My favorite tale (mentioned earlier) is “Everlasting Fire”. It takes place in Hell where Lilly is a demon whose job is to set up ironic punishments for the dead. The author made up 2 new deadly sins, using puns and saying “LOL” aloud. I shake in terror at her punishment for critics… forced to review books from “The Library That Contains Nothing But Fan-Fiction.” I better start being a good girl. LOL—it’s typed, not a sin.

Lilac Wolf is a 30-something housewife and blogger trying to balance reading, kids, marriage and her craft. You can find her and more reviews like this one at Lilac Wolf and Stuff.

***

From the Wickedest Witch of the All – Thanks so much, Angie. You’ve spelled out all the reasons why I wanted you to review this book. I love the honesty of your voice, and the way you find the soul of the stories you read.

The New Death and others was a surprised to me, too. I didn’t know what to expect. After your review, I was sure Lilli’s tale would be my favorite as well. Seriously, the idea of a persnickety little demon punishing critics and people who massacre the language makes me crack up. Then I read the collection, and my gods! I was in love with everything.

My Wicked Luvs, this ebook is currently free, on Amazon. I urge you to download it right away, for I’m not sure how long its no cost status will last.

I’m adding the name of everyone who does the following to the “Being a Drake” contest at my writing site (The stories and poems are very short):

1. Leave a comment with your thoughts on this review.

2. Download The New Death and others, then add your favorite quote at the end of your comment (if you’ve already entered the “Being a Drake” contest, this will be an extra entry).

Extra Entries:

1. Be a Wicked Darling (follow Pagan Culture)

2. Blog about this entry, and leave a link to the post

3. Tweet about this entry, and leave a link to the tweet

4. Follow my writing site

5. Follow Lilac Wolf and Stuff

* This giveaway ends April 17^th at 12:13pm EST.

** The lucky winner will be chosen via Randomizer. I’ll announce her or his name on April 19^th at 12:13am EST. Great luck, my Luvs ;-)

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