The Big Stuck

The day I moved into my apartment happened to be during a particularly rainy spring season. Unless you live somewhere that rain does something different than it does where I live, we all know what happens to the ground when it rains for several weeks.

I was staying at my mother's house until my apartment was ready, and sure enough, moving day greeted us with a steady drizzle. My mother has a long driveway, curvy and hilly, and mostly gravel. Or what is normally gravel, anyways. Moving Day arrived and the rain had turned the gravel into a mushy layer easily lost in about 4 feet of mud. My friends arrived with their van, and managed to get the van up the driveway to the door, no problem. We were golden. Ignoring the drizzle the best we could, we hauled all of my stuff into the van, loaded it to the brim in under 4 hours, and got ready to get underway.

My friend started the van, put it into drive, pressed down the accelorator, and....we lurched forward, then stopped.

Yes. As much as we all should have seen the inevitable happening at some point, given the situation, we somehow thought we could escape the Big Stuck. We didn't. I don't know how much a 14 passenger van filled with the belongings of a single gal, actual single gal, and 3 strapping lads weighs...but it was too much for the driveway to handle.

I won't bore you with the gory details, but we did manage to eventually get the van unstuck. It was filthy. It was maddening. There was an awful lot of swearing, tire kicking, and yelling...and I was barely even helping the poor lads! But, yes, the van got unstuck and my life was moved into my new apartment. We all lived happily ever after.

Except, now I'm writing a book, and I've encountered another...Big Stuck. A Really, Really, Big Stuck.

I'm 54k into the first book of what has always been, in my mind, a trilogy. Only...I'm stuck. I know what is supposed to happen for much of Book 2 and Book 3. But I'm not sure I can write 3 books with approximately 80k+ each. I'm not sure I have that much Story. I refuse to be one of those writers who just goes on and on and on with filler scenes to get a specific word count. I've read those books. We've all read those books. Those are the books that make you go, “Oh my God, just....DIE already, or something! Sheesh!”

SO what do I do? Do I keep waiting for new inspiration? I've gone a week without writing a single thing in my WIP. I've been working on other things, but it's not helping. I have deadlines. Granted, they are self-imposed, but very important for a number of reasons. I've also always wanted to go the route of traditional publishing, I mean, up until a short time ago, there really wasn't other options anyways, but now there is. There are lots of other options...and I keep getting these options presented to me in a way that is starting to sound very tempting. For those of you who may not know what I'm talking about, I'm talking about self-publishing, hybrid publishers, epublishers, etc. The interesting thing about all of these is the death of the stringent guidelines concerning the all-mighty Word Count.

When I get an idea in my head, I tend to grip it with pit bull tenacity and MAKE it happen. Can't be done, you say? Watch me...This is both one of my finest and one of my worst traits. Worst, in the sense that sometimes I really should let go. Some ideas are meant to morph into new ones, not be clung to in a maddeningly obtuse fashion. Am I harming my story because I so badly want to see it take place in three books, laid out in shiny hardcovers at my local Barnes and Noble? Maybe it's not supposed to happen that way. How do I tell the difference between “Giving Up A Dream” and “Achieving Something Equally As Good (If Not Better)”? Is all this talk directed at me about my publishing options a sign or just coincidence? Because right now, I'm really not sure...Maybe this story is meant to only be a book and its sequel. Or maybe, it's meant to be three novella length stories with an epublisher.

The fact of the matter is if I decide to do this story in 2 parts, instead of 3, I could sit down at my computer (which feels like it's overheating by the way....crap....) and pound out about 5k right now, no problemo. And tomorrow, the same thing. But instead....I'm Stuck...because I keep clinging to the idea of writing a 80-100k'er...so do I stick to the original plan or come up with a new one? Am I wimping out by not sticking it out with a trilogy? What good is a "meh" trilogy if a sequel is "Woo Hoo!!" Quitter? Winner? Gahhhh...What would you do?

                                                     (Kind of what I'm doing right now!)

"Memoirs Aren't Fairytales: A Story of Addiction", and Guest Author Marni Mann Interview

A couple weeks ago, I came upon a book on amazon that caught my eye. The cover is lovely, and the reviews were glowing, but that wasn't what peaked my interest.

My career thus far has been as an Addictions Therapist. I've worked with children as young as 14, adults as old as 79, and every age or socio-economic status in between. One thing that remains a constant is the manner in which addiction can bring a person to the very depths of a living hell. Many don't make it through alive.

“I could feel my chin falling towards my chest, my back hunching forward. My body was acting on its own, and my mind was empty, like all my memories had been erased. There was scenery behind my lids. Aqua colored water and powdery sand that extended for miles. I was never going back to coke. I wanted more heroin. And I wanted it now.”
Leaving behind a nightmarish college experience, nineteen-year-old Nicole and her best friend Eric escape their home of Bangor, Maine to start a new life in Boston. Fragile and scared, Nicole desperately seeks a new beginning to help erase her past. But there is something besides freedom waiting for her in the shadows–a drug that will make every day a nightmare.
Heroin.
With one taste, the love that once flowed through Nicole’s veins turns into cravings. Tracks mark the passing of time, and heroin’s grip gets tighter. It holds her hand through deaths and prostitution, but her addiction keeps her in the darkness. When her family tries to strike a match to help light her way, Nicole must choose between a life she can hardly remember, or a love for heroin she’ll never forget.

I decided that I had to read this book, not only because the subject matter was of personal interest to me, but because I wanted to see if the author knew what she was talking about...

I started reading. I kept reading. I got sucked in, and couldn't put it down. The whole time I was reading, one part of my brain was engaged in how gruesomely entertaining Nicole's story was, and the other was how gruesomely accurate the depiction of addiction was. My first thought after finishing the very last sentence was, "Wow."

My second thought was that every single Addictions Therapist or Counselor who has not experienced an addiction of their own should be mandated to read Nicole's story. Here's the catch. This is a work of fiction, technically. "Nicole" doesn't exist. But the reality is that there are thousands and thousands of men and women like Nicole.

I engaged the author, Marni Mann, in a discussion, because I was fascinated by how she managed to write such a "true story". I asked if she would be willing to do an interview for this blog, and she very graciously agreed to discuss the creation of "Memoirs Aren't Fairytales: A Story of Addiction."

Me: What made you want to write about heroin addiction?

Marni Mann: I have several addicts in my life. I‘ve lost track of how many times I’ve been affected by their disease, and my pain turned into a novel. I chose heroin because it was a drug I didn’t know much about. I wanted this novel to be a challenge, meaning the descriptions of being high would require a lot of research. I chose a first person narrative for the same reason. It not only allowed the readers to get close to the main character, but it required me to become that character, feel her pain, exhale her breath, carry the weight of her past and future.

Me: Tell us about the research you conducted in order to write with such
accuracy and really explore the nitty, gritty details of where this lifestyle
brings people?

Marni Mann: I read books, watched documentaries, and spoke to professionals. Those really helped when writing the technical aspects of the novel. The personal touches came from listening to real voices of addiction. I met with addicts and recovering addicts, paying close attention to the lingo they used and the descriptions of being high after they shot up heroin. I wasn’t just surprised by their candor, but how they welcomed me into their world and trusted me with their stories.

Me: Was it emotionally challenging to write Nicole's story?

Marni Mann: Nicole kept me awake at night. Her story would swirl around my head like a talking bubble and her pain would tear through me. Like I said before, in order for me to write this story I had to become her; her addiction sat in my stomach, her experiences caused knots in my throat, her tears filled my eyes. Nicole’s baggage wasn’t the size of my purse. I carried an 18-wheeler on my shoulders for two and a half years because that’s how long it took me to write and edit this novel.

Me: Why do you think drug use is often glamorized in the media?

Marni Mann: Most of us live boring lives. We stay home on Saturday nights because we’re too tired to change out of our sweatpants. Our 9-5 jobs suck the life out of us, we care for our kids, animals, family, responsibilities, and it’s a lot to handle. We want excitement. We want what we can’t have. Celebrities provide that escape; they have fame and fortune and most of us will never experience that. In my opinion, the media is giving us exactly what we’re asking for. We want the thrill, a taste of something we’ll never have, and drinking and drug use is a part of that. With shows like Intervention, Celebrity Rehab, and Sober House, I hope people realize it’s not all private jets and trips to the Playboy mansion. It’s darkness, isolation, poverty, and death. We thought Amy Winehouse, Whitney Houston, and Michael Jackson had it all, didn’t we?

Me: Most stories about addiction mention self-help groups (such as AA/NA). Was there a reason why you chose not to include these resources as part of Nicole's journey?

Marni Mann: This is a hard question to answer because I don’t want to give away too much information. Memoirs Aren’t Fairytales is a story about addiction. Scars from a Memoir, the sequel, addresses the different aspects of recovery, including NA and rehab.

Me: What would be some advice you might give to someone who themself is struggling with an addiction, or who loves someone who is active in an addiction?

Marni Mann: To the friends and family of an addict: Remember, an addict has to want sobriety as much as you want it for them. I encourage you to attend Al-Anon or Nar-Anon meetings. You need support because you can’t do this alone. Both groups are extremely beneficial; they teach you how to stop enabling the addict, the effective ways to stage an intervention, and they’re the ears you need during this difficult time.
To anyone struggling with an addiction: You can do this. There’s a will inside you that’s stronger than your addiction. That will is to get clean. To live. To wake up each morning and the first voice you hear isn’t your addiction. It’s from the people who love and support you, and who are proud of your success and accomplishments. Find that will. Utilize the resources that are available such as 12-Step meetings, counseling, or rehab.

Some people will avoid this book because it will make them uncomfortable. That's ok. But if you want to know what addiction really is like, if you want to understand how someone smart, talented, and seeming to have it all ends up living on the streets, then you must read it. If you want to hear the story of thousands of young people in the U.S., read this book. If you want to know the faces of the hundreds of people I have worked with over the past 11+ years, read this book. If you know and love someone who has an addiction, read this book. Marni Mann has created a masterpiece, and I dedicate this blog to everyone whose life has ever been touched by addiction in some way. I'm grateful to her for her participation and for the lives that will be touched by her work!

                                                                          Marni Mann

If you are interested in purchasing this book, you can find it at the following links:

Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Memoirs-Arent-Fairytales-Addiction-ebook/dp/B006OO7L58/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1335752159&sr=8-1

Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Memoirs-Arent-Fairytales-Story-Addiction/dp/1935961292/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1335752159&sr=8-1


Nook/Paperback: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/memoirs-arent-fairytales-marni-mann/1108043373?ean=9781935961291
                                                                                       

Beauty, and Where (Or How) We Behold It

As some of you know, but most of you don't, I like to run in the cemetery near my house. Several times a week I take my dog, Herschel, and he races around like a lunatic while I huff and puff and dream of fitting into the pants I wore my senior year of high school.

I recently told a friend where I like to do my jogging, and the response was, "That's kind of creepy!" It was said in jest, and in context, it was a compliment, but it got me thinking about my choice to do cardio in such a location. Are cemeteries "creepy?"

Dying is creepy. Dying can be terrifying, and often painful, and the majority of people experiencing it wish they had more time. More time to Live, that is. The death of a loved one can also be terrifying and painful for those left behind. Do cemeteries only represent Death? We are buried in them. A stone or tablet is erected to commemorate our passing. Flowers and memorabilia are placed as signs that the ones who are buried have not been forgotten. But can cemeteries also represent Life?

Today, I was in a particular kind of mood. You know, the one where you move slowly, and take the time to really see the world around you. The kind of mood that makes you contemplate the deeper meanings of ordinary "things", not in a sad or heavy-hearted way, but in an acknowledging manner that indicates you have recognized things are not always what they seem at first glance.

The particular cemetery where I go is beautiful. It's quiet. It's very large, and I've never walked (much less jogged!) the entire grid in one session. There are hardly ever any visitors, but when there are, I go in the opposite direction so that we may each have the privacy and contemplation we have come for. Today, I brought my camera with me to the cemetery. I decided to share with you some of the reasons why I choose a place of death to be the place I celebrate my life.

 There is something magical about a time-worn path, the broken stones bordered with moss, and not knowing where it may lead. This is a path of mysterious journeys and gallant quests undertaken by otherwordly creatures, heros, and fair maidens. Where would YOU end up if you were to place one foot in front of the other, slowly, so slowly moving forward...



A few months ago, two young teens were playing in the cemetery at the same time I was jogging through. A boy and a girl, whose flirtatious exchanges could be heard echoing through the stones. They were old enough to feel the thrill of attraction for someone who makes your spine tingle, while young enough to still play like innocent children. They managed to climb inside these two trees and mostly conceal themselves amongst the branches. As I started approaching the trees, they became very silent. I knew they thought they were invisible, and being me, I decided to foil whatever plot they were drumming up. I called out, "I know you're in there!" At first, silence, then giggles erupted. The girl called back, "How did you know?" I laughed, thinking of a toddler who plays peek-a-boo with her blankie, and thinks that because she can't see anyone, no one can see her, either. I called to the teens, "Because I can see your sweatshirt!" One of them was wearing a bright red hooded sweatshirt that stuck out like a cardinal on a snow covered deck. They giggled some more, and I giggled too, and we shared a childish moment that the planter of the trees probably never envisioned.

When I was little, I liked to pretend that moss patches were actually tiny forests, inhabited by miniscule Fae. I imagined whole lives for these creatures, and would softly stroke the moss tops, wondering what the Faeries would think of my gigantic shadow passing so near their homes. Personally, I prefer very green moss, but perhaps this particular Fae Forest is experiencing fall foliage...

It may not be true for many cemeteries, but this particular one has the most stunning wildflowers that grow all over the grounds. Last summer, I photographed over a dozen varieties, and there were at least half that many I didn't!

On the southeast corner of the cemetery, the ground drops off steeply, and a small stream meanders its way through turns and curves. It forms a small swamp, and there is a flock of geese that have made it, and the rest of the lowlands, their home. They frequently scold me, and the dog, as we invade their kingdom on our way through to higher ground. The rains have been heavy for the past 48 hours, and the stream has swollen to triple its normal size, as has the swamp.

Am I imagining the beauty of this place? Am I neglecting to see death all around me? Or have I discovered something different...

~The above is a video of Herschel playing games :)~

It is not my intent that you should run to your nearest cemetery and frolic about madcap, although you might find yourself having much more fun that you expected should you decide to do so. What IS my intent is that you allow yourself to experience your surroundings in a way that is beautiful and meaningful to you. Don't allow stereotypes and preconceived notions of beauty prevent you from finding the places that bring you peace, and joy, and the feeling that you are celebrating your life. Keep your eyes open, and you will find your own "Cemetery."

Review of "Whisper Walker", Book One of the Whisper Walker Series

By now, you should all know that I love the YA genre. Long before I started my own work, I read YA books voraciously, and that hasn't changed a bit (Even though I can no longer even remotely be considered a YA myself!)

Recently, I was allowed to read a very exciting book before it even hit the "shelves," a term we must now apply metaphorically to all discussion of published works. Up and coming author London Cole has created the start of a series of dystopian adventure novels that I think you, your teenagers, and their friends should read. The synopsis of Book One has been provided here:

After turning seventeen, orphan Drake Adair discovers he can see ghosts when he falls into a pit of human remains while running for his life. What he doesn't realize is that he's stumbled onto his destiny. Kelsie Blake, Drake's roommate and closest friend since she fled her filicidal father, has secrets. Secrets she keeps even from Drake. Sneaking outside the Gates into the wild, she risks everything for a little excitement. Her lies now threaten everything she cares about most in her life.
Drake unearths a plot by an enemy Guild to tear apart life as he knows it. The very people closest to him may be pawns in the grisly scheme, leaving Kelsie and Drake with no one to turn to as they struggle to find answers before it's too late.
Set eighty years after World War III, Kelsie and Drake pair up to protect the only life they know in a harsh and unforgiving world. They must each come to grips with his abilities, her secrets, and their mixed feelings for each other. Will they make it? Or will the very foundations of their lives be ripped from beneath them.

So now that you are thinking, "Hmm. Maybe I should check this out..." Allow me to further sway you. I have a mini-interview with the author himself!

Me: What is your favorite part of Whisper Walker?

London Cole: Hmm. Favorite part, ehh? I would have to say the first fight scene Kelsie is in. Though {the scene} when the ghost Samantha showed up was fun to write.

Me: If you could hang out with Drake and Kelsie for 24 hours, what would you most want to do with them?

London Cole: Gah, this is a toughie. I personally would rather hang out with Kelsie. I kinda think Drake is a stuck up goody-two-shoes. But, if I had to hang out with both of them, I'd take them paint-balling. That would be pretty awesome as I got my ass handed to me by Kelsie and Drake. Of course, I might be able to convince Kelsie to join me and go double against Drake.

Me: Is there a "teaser" you'd like to share with us for Book 2 of the series?

London Cole: I just decided that I might start the book from an earlier point than I have it already. I can also say that I introduce two new and important characters, as well as new paranormal creatures. It's going to be a hell of a ride and will probably end up being  longer than WHISPER WALKER.

My review of the book, overall, is as follows~

In a post-apocalyptic world, Kelsie and Drake are forced to unite at a very young age and depend on each other for survival. As the years pass, they are presented with an ever growing list of challenges. This story is so much more than a fantasy adventure, as it explores what it means to discover first love, and confront the terrifying history of your own family.
The story gathers speed as it goes along, and I found my finger clicking the "next page" button of its own volition. There is something for everyone- good action scenes, a blossoming romance, secrets and lies, a mystery to be solved, and the very real possibility of death at the hands of an evil plotter!

I enjoyed the point of view delineation of each chapter as the author skillfully gives us insight into both Drake and Kelsie.

This is a fantastic adventure suitable for teens and the young at heart. I am looking forward to seeing what debut author London Cole has in store for us next!

Many thanks to London for sharing his book with me and the rest of the world, and taking the time to give us his thoughts on his creation! You can visit his website here:

http://www.londoncole.com/

The links to purchase Whisper Walker at amazon.com or barnesandnoble.com can also be found on his website.

Ode To...

There has been a request that I post the most dubious love poem I have ever created so that the whole world may read it. And so, with out further ado~

Smooth white skin

Always cool to the touch

Sweat beads off your back
Like the dew of a morning flower

You require so little, yet

The support you give me
Is incomparable

My animals adore you

Which means I must trust you

Through sickness and health

Like a marriage vow

My gratitude knows no bounds

My love, my Toilet.

Title Reveal!

 BREAKING NEWS,MONDAY'S TOP STORY!!

 I have selected the final (unless they make me change it) titles for my work in progress trilogy of fantasy adventure novels.

 

 The series will be called "The Neverearth Prophecies". Book One will be called "Running On Faith." Book Two will be called "The Edge of Darkness." Finally, Book Three will be called "Change The World."

 Thanks to my favorite musical artist of all time, Eric Clapton, for providing me with song titles that are incredibly apt for the storyline of each book! I struggled for weeks, months even, wobbling back and forth over what to call my precious creations, lo and behold, the answer was in front of me the whole time. Isn't that how life works all too often? (I really hope they let me keep these titles!)

 

And now, as promised...the Parade of Dancing Girls! Aren't they stunning?!

 

Excerpt from Running on Faith, Book 1 of The Neverearth Prophecies, WIP by Me!

I shiver. My bare feet burn on the bitterly cold ice-covered bridge, but just like with the fiery rock, the pain disappears as each foot leaves the surface and explodes again as it touches back down. It is exactly as fun as it sounds.

We continue walking and I find myself longing for the heat, having quickly forgotten how relieved I had been to leave it behind.

Carson shivers next to me. The ground suddenly feels different beneath my feet and I realize we have left the bridge. Ice and snow cover every surface, and the metallic tang in the air is making my nose itch. I want to tuck my arms inside what's left of my sleeves but I know it won't really make me feel warmer, and it would disable me much like I had done to Carson when we were playing around in the clearing.

I hear a yelp, and see Carson go down out of the corner of my eye. I whirl around, ready to defend against whatever monster has finally found us, only to see that he has slipped on the slick surface. He refuses my hand, grumbling to himself as he gets to his feet.

I see something over his shoulder that I don't quite understand. A massive pile of snow seems to be moving towards us. It's very far away, but getting closer. I grab Carson's arm and nod in the direction of the movement. He squints toward it, and I pull him into a crouch. No sense in being an obvious target if we can help it.

As I continue watching the approaching snow pile, I realize it's not snow.

“Is that...I mean, are those...” Carson trails off.

I don't want to confirm what I know he is thinking.

More than two dozen white creatures of immense size are bearing down on us. With each step that brings them closer to us, they look more and more like pictures I'd seen of Yeti. The Abominable Snowman. Bigfoot's cold weather cousin.

I scan the terrain around us, hoping there is some place to use to our advantage. I don't think hiding is going to do much good, because it's obvious they've already seen us, but if we can get somewhere higher or narrower, it gives us a better vantage point to fight from.

I spot an incline behind us, about a quarter mile away. It seems to be our best hope in this flat, frozen wasteland. I discreetly point towards it, and Carson nods his understanding. Running as fast as we can through the slippery snow, we get there safely. Up close, it's better than I hoped for.

The hill, while small, still gets us about fifteen feet off the ground, and the backside of the hill is a sheet of glare ice that slopes down at a treacherous angle. While it means we have to be careful not to slip down it, it also means the creatures will have a rough time scaling it, so we only have to defend three sides.

I scan the horizon and sure enough, the Yeti-things are still coming straight at us. I know better than to consider the possibility of it being a welcoming committee. We have no weapons, a fact I am not happy to realize. The metallic air isn't responsible for the sour taste in my mouth, and I realize I am tasting fear. We hadn't made much of a dent in the horde we had fought in the fiery pit and we'd had plenty of weapons at our disposal.

I remember the feel of the blade or claw slicing through my shoulder, and I shudder. The only bright spot is that it doesn't appear the snow monsters are carrying any weapons, either.

“So what's our game plan?” Asks Carson.

I want to appear tough and in control, but I can't bear to lie to him. “I don't know.” I say.

He snorts. “OK, that wasn't the response I was hoping for!”

Me neither. “What's your idea then, smarty pants?” I shoot back.

He thinks for a moment. “When you were on the thing's shoulders back there, you were twisting its neck. To break it, right? Like the guy in the alley? How come it didn't work?”

“Because it was made out of rock! Well, it felt like trying to wring out a rock, anyways.”

“Show me how it's done.” He commands.

I look up quickly, and gauge we have several minutes before the herd reaches us. Carson allows me to put him in a choke hold so he can feel where pressure is needed. “Here, and here, then twist, while pulling from the base. Like so.” Obviously I don't break his neck, but I put enough force into it so he gets what needs to happen. “OK, you try.”

He puts his arms around my neck, and I adjust them a fraction. I am reminded of a silly movie I watched one time where the woman is trying to teach her hopelessly clumsy beau to dance. I wish that I was teaching Carson to dance instead of how to rip heads off demonic creatures.

He shows me that he knows what he is doing. Just in time, because the beasts are upon us.

They are close enough that I can see they are covered in long white fur, not pure white, but a combination of white and silver and a creamy, pale blue, a perfect camouflage for the snowy terrain. It's beautiful, and mesmerizing as the fur moves with their undulating gate.

I tear my gaze away from the fur, and notice the rest of the details. They are about ten feet tall, and move with a swift grace. The faces have a feline quality about them, and the eyes-the eyes are large, startlingly blue and framed by long lashes. I am reminded of a white Bengal tiger, if it were standing on two legs.

I hear Carson shout, and I am angry he has disrupted my musings. I want to keep staring at these astonishingly lovely creatures. Their size and alien appearance only adds to their mysterious appeal. I want to touch the fur, sure it will be soft and luxurious. The leader stands in front of me, its blue eyes beckoning to me, giving me permission. I stretch my arm out, wanting to bury my hands in its coat, run my fingers through the silky length.

I am slapped across the side of my face, and sudden awareness hits me.

“Alexa, move!” Carson screams.

I realize it was he who has slapped me out of my reverie, and I look at my outstretched hand, not sure why it hovers in front of me. I look up, and see the creature reaching out for my hand. With its paw. Which ends in five blades, each the length of my arm.

I dodge out of the way just in time to avoid having my arm sliced off by the deadly blades.

Holy crap!

I'd left the vantage point of our hill and had approached the beasts, influenced by some sort of hypnosis. Carson had come after me, and managed to disrupt what would have been a disastrous ending.

“Don't look them in the eye!” He yells at me. I'm not sure how he knows this or why he wasn't caught up in the effect like I was, but I can ask him later. Right now we are going to have to survive another battle.

I race back up the hill and Carson follows up on my heels. The Yeti-tigers gather around the base of our hill, and a mournful keening fills the air. The sound makes me feel sorry for them, these poor creatures. Are they trapped here too?

“Shut up!” Calls Carson, calmly. “You aren't fooling anyone.”

The keening stops, and the one I had tried to touch calls out in a deep yet melodious voice, while pointing at me.

I suddenly know it is mocking me, and my sympathy vanishes. “Not anymore, hairball!” I call back.

I don't know if it understands my words, but my shift in mood is apparent, and I hear the audible sound of sliding metal, like swords being unsheathed, and two dozen sets of blade-claws emerge. Oh good. They all have weapons, and we still have none.

I crouch, and see Carson do the same, ready as we'll ever be. We are angled back to back. The Yeti-tigers begin their approach. Gone are the benign kitty faces, and their sharp teeth glint as they snarl at us.

They converge in unison. I don't have time to watch Carson, as I fight to stay out of the way of at least 120 blades- half have come at me, the other half to Carson. They are fighting uphill, which should give us the advantage, but their height and weapons give them an edge. Also, they are fast. Faster than the fire demons.

But not quite as fast as us. Underneath their fur, their bodies aren't as substantial as I was prepared for. I refuse to be de-focused by the feel of the fur, which is as luxuriously silky as I imagined it would be.

I have already broken a couple arms and two necks before one of them gets a piece of me.