Full Moon of Werewolves Schedule
About today’s guest: Linda Robertson
Not only does Linda write Urban Fantasy novels, she’s an artist and a musician as well. She’s played the piano since she was eight, and the electric guitar since her rock-n-roll teen years . . . a bad-ass phase some would say she never completely outgrew.
From Linda: I wanted to do a little contest, but I don’t believe I’m getting advance copies! So, I’ll do something a little different. If you’d like to have your name go into the drawing for a journal and photo album set (see picture) then go to my website at: www.wolfsbaneandabsinthe.com
(yup…Wolfsbane and Absinthe) and see if you can find out how tall the character Johnny is. (There’s only five pages there, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find!) When you find his height, then leave it in the comments section of this post. At the end of the promotion, Lori will choose a winner at random from all the correct answers. Good luck!
Winner will be announced at end of Full Moon promotion. Last day to enter Saturday, April 25th at midnight central U.S. time.
So, how are my werewolves different? For one thing, mine are wærewolves.
I doubt I’m the first person to spell it wærewolf with the ligatured a-e, but I did so I can refer to them as ‘wæres’ without it looking like the verb ‘were.’ Typing reasons aside, if the wæres in my story get near a witch during spell-work the energies raised can incite an irreversible partial shift—usually the head and arms—but the mind suffers irreparably. The police are expected to shoot and kill any wære partially shifted. So…witches and wæres weren’t meant to mingle.
Now how about a sample?
EXCERPT from VICIOUS CIRCLE available July 2009 from Juno/Pocket Books:
In the back of my address book was a list of contact numbers for the wærewolves who kenneled in my basement for full moons. My finger ran down to the name Johnny. A last name wasn’t necessary to clarify this guy. There was only one Johnny.
I put quarters into the gas station pay phone and dialed his number. It rang twice.
“’Lo?”
“Johnny, it’s Persephone Alcmedi. I—”
“Hey, Red.”
That threw me. My hair wasn’t red, it was dark, dark brown. Though I tried going blonde in my late teens, a week later all the prissy cheerleaders at school started saying things like ‘Your Greek roots are showing’ and I went back to brown. Blonde hadn’t been me anyway. I’m a darkling. “Red?” I asked.
“I’ve decided I’m going to call you Red from now on.”
“All right. I’ll bite —no pun intended. Why?”
He snickered in a very masculine way and lowered his voice. “’Cause I like the idea of the big bad wolf visiting you and gramma.”
I laughed so hard people pumping gas turned to stare at me. Johnny’s sigh made me imagine the satisfied smile he surely wore. He loved attention.
“I knew you’d call me eventually,” he said.
“This isn’t what you think it is.”
“Damn.” He breathed the word more than said it.
Quickly, I asked, “Busy tomorrow?”
“Never too busy for you, Red.”
“Don’t read into my words.” On full moons, the wolves let themselves into my storm cellar and locked themselves into the cages they wanted with whomever they wanted to share them with –an important choice, since these caged animals passed the time by mating, and furious mating by the sounds of it. However, when I went to unlock the cages at dawn, Johnny was always alone, and he teased me and howled at me, the pack clown, so to speak. He always had an innuendo ready.
“Aw, c’mon, Red. Go out with me just once. I won’t bite. I won’t even lick if you don’t want me too.”
I grinned but said, “No.”
He sighed.
“Busy or not?”
“I said I wasn’t.”
“Perfect. I need you to go to Cleveland and pick up something for me in, uh, well…your stage clothes.” He fronted a heavy metal band.
“In daylight hours?”
“Mm-hmmm. At four o’clock.”
“Awesome. I love scaring the white-collared types. What’m I picking up?”
“Probably a briefcase or something like that.”
“You don’t know?”
“Long story.”
“Sounds like perfect dinner conversation to me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Johnny.”
“Okay, okay. Where?”
“From the manager of the coffee shop two blocks down from the Rock Hall of Fame.”
“No way! Right down town?”
I had to smile. His enthusiasm never waned. I didn’t mean to be cruel, but if any man would make a good wolf, as in cousin to man’s best friend, it was Johnny. He had the personality of a tail-wagging leg-humper that had just gotten his treat. “Yep.”
“Cool.” He paused. “What’s in it for me?”
Going with the thought I’d just had, I said, “Treats.”
“Oooo baby.”
“Not those kind of treats, Johnny. I’m talking steaks.”
“Don’t blame me for trying, do ya?”
“Never.” I had to admit, I did like his attention –and his voice seemed sexier to me on the phone than it ever had in person— but I just couldn’t see myself dating him. He…he just wasn’t my type. And my personal rule was direct: Don’t flirt with the wolves you kennel. Kind of like no inter-office dating.
“So,” he drew it out. “Am I keeping this briefcase or whatever ‘til the moonrise or do I get to make a special trip to see you and gramma?”
In a mocking, child-like voice, I teased, “What big ideas you have.”
He growled low. “I got other things bigger than my ideas, little girl.”
My cheeks flushed red enough to suit the nickname. Johnny was different from the others, primarily because his looks terrified me; he had these tattoos that were just ominous. The others, in human form were just people. Johnny had such…presence.
I’d always thought he just flat out scared me, but talking on the phone for the first time, hearing him without seeing him, I realized it was all the looks. That made me feel bad, like I was shallow or something. I didn’t judge people on looks. Not usually, anyway.
“I’ll be home; bring it to me there.” I’d have to test my theory and see if he still intimidated me.
He hesitated. “I’m not complaining, Red. I’ll play fetch with you. But why aren’t you doing it if you’re just going to be home?”
I sighed. “I’ll explain when you arrive. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said brightly. “It’ll be about five-thirty or six by the time I make it through traffic and get to your place, so I’ll pick up something for us to eat. See you then.” He hung up before I could protest.
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About today’s guest: 
Then, more recently, we have the Underworld series (which are probably my favorites,) Blood for Chocolate, Bad Moon, Hybrid. Man, I love the werewolf horror movies.
I love werewolves! 
Here’s the schedule:
About today’s guest: 
Which was how SHIVER came to be. The thing about SHIVER that will probably annoy the heck out of many werewolf purists is that my werewolves are not very . . . were. They spend precious little time looking like both a human or a wolf. When they are a human, when it is warm, they are very, very human. And when the temperature drops and they’re forced into their wolf forms, they are very, very wolf. 
Stories have been told down through the centuries of men and women who could change into animals or of animals that could become human. Whether the characters of such stories were gifted or cursed, these tales have continued to fascinate until our present time. 
Deep in caves in France and southern Spain, paintings were discovered, which, it is believed, were created by tribes of Cro-Magnon men. One of these drawings is of a strange creature, which, although shaped like a man, has antlers like a stag and the tail of a wolf or wild horse. Speculations abound as to what the drawing represents. Most believe it is a shaman or holy man, using sympathetic magic to ensure a good hunt. 
Bouda – Boudas are men of the desert who can transform into hyenas at nightfall then resume their human shape at dawn. Some African tribes believe the hyena form is a favorite form of shape shifting shamans or witch doctors. 
In the graphic novel series Fables, written by Bill Willingham, the premise is that characters from fairy and folk tales, such as Snow White, Prince Charming, and the Three Little Pigs, have been driven from their Homelands by the Adversary. They now reside in our world and have their own hidden community in New York city known as Fabletown. They refer to themselves as Fables. 
About today’s guest: 
Also interesting, if you’ve read or seen Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, you might remember the trickster Puck. He’s supposed to be the bard’s vision of a puca. In some cases, the puca also answers to the name of Robin Goodfellow, which, coincidentally (or not) is also an alias for the devil. Some say the legend of Robin Hood is rooted in the puca myth, as well. Perhaps the most well-known puca — but way different from my vision of one — was the six-foot-tall invisible rabbit in the movie Harvey, starring Jimmy Stewart. 
About today’s guest: 
The killings—over one hundred of them—occurred first (or were at least first reported) in 1693 in Benais, France. But it is in the mountains of Gévaudan, France, in 1765, that the creature gets its moniker. A fellow named Francois Antoine heard of the killings of women and children and hunted down the beast. He killed a very large wolf, had it stuffed, and sent to the court of Louis XV, but in December in a different locale, the wolf killings started anew. Was it a wolf? A dog/wolf hybrid? A loup-garou (werewolf)? 
Because everyone writes about wolves. I wanted to write about the Big Cats. But my best friend kept telling me no. Do what I know. I know wolves, and was always giving her advice on her short stories. They should be my first choice, not my last. 
Then came Kieran. In an instant I knew he was a wolf. Damn it! I said no wolves. He merely looked at me with that intense gaze of his, and as clear as day I heard “Tough shit, deal with it.” Wo!! Okay! 
Zombie Moon
