Tag Archives: wolves

Confessions of a romance writer: An animal in human skin

Confessions of a paranormal romance author: Animal in a Human’s Skin #furry #freak #wolf #creativity #writing #excerpts

Camouflage is French for “mind your own business.” ~Anonymous (I don’t know who came up with this. I heard a friend say it, and thought it so clever he couldn’t possibly have thought it up himself. But if he did? My apologies. And hats off to you, K.B.)

Don’t you ever wonder where your imagination comes from? Why the fancies of one person’s mind can vary so greatly from another’s. Each one taking on a specific slant, a perspective leaning in a constant direction.
Like the too-close-for-comfort preternatural dramas of Stephen King, or the complicated sagas of JRR Tolkein. Both writers reveal a pattern, a legend to the maps of their minds’ inventiveness.
What does this tell me? It tells me that our imaginations are linked to our essential cores. That they are linked to who we are on the inside.
No matter what we look like on the outside.
What I mean is, yeah, we can look perfectly human, but there’s something else curled deep and safe inside of us: the inner self which can be truer to who we are than our own skins.
For some of us, that skin is camouflage. It doesn’t represent who we are on the inside. I mean, do you catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror and get taken aback? As if the image in the glass isn’t what you expected to see?
Or that maybe inside your hands, when you look down at them, there is something aching to push out?
Happens to me. Which is how my first book came about. I dared to cage my insecurities and stepped a tentative toe onto the damning evidence of the page. Where the written word transformed itself into the accusing finger, giving the “normal” public a chance to scoff and malign the creatures escaping my imagination.
Since it was my first story, I stuck to the cardinal rule of authors: write what you know.
Still shy and afraid, I wrote in privacy, guarding my computer screen while I transported the animals inside me to the brutal exposure of the open page
This is how Beth was born. A woman living in human society. A woman out of touch with that society. Yeah, she blended okay, but there was always something others were put off by.
Always something she was put off by, but couldn’t quite put her finger on.
That’s me. I live with humans, but too often find myself saying, “What the fuck?”
Because I don’t get people.
Neither does Beth. Since I couldn’t do anything about myself, I saved her.
I conjured a wolf-man to come and show her where her real world was.
Wishful thinking? You bet!

From Luna: Book One of The Luna Chronicle by S.C. Dane:

Sunrise found me in my usual spot in front of the picture window, sipping my coffee and gazing at my reflection as I fantasized about the stranger named Alec. I was running into him a lot, and he seemed to be searching me out as often as I was looking for him. No guy or teenage horny-toad had ever pursued me, not even out of curiosity. So, why didn’t I find the whole situation unusual?
Because this man’s interest stirred me like I’d only dreamed about. I wanted him. Scratch that. I craved him. Hell, I was getting goose-bumps just sitting in my chair thinking about him. It was all I could do to keep myself from throwing my virginity at him.
So, I had to be careful. I had no experience in this sort of thing, and I sure as shit didn’t want to scare him off with my weirdness. Forget that I thought the guy could be a wolf. That was just me fantasizing again. The reality was that I was the freak, so if Alec found me interesting, I was going to have to act as normal as I could muster. Which meant not stalking him like a hungry predator.

This is a scene from when Beth still thought she was human. Before she learned there were wolf-people and she was one of them. At this time in the story, she thinks she’s a freak because she just doesn’t think like the people around her. She prefers spending her time in the woods. It’s the only place where she feels closest to her “real” self, without understanding why.
Like many of us, she has to put on a mask to get through her day. She has to pretend to “get” the rules of human interaction. Only in the primordial cradle of the forests does she slough her mask, to run and play with wild abandon.
For Beth, these private sojourns into the woods are necessary to her spiritual survival.
As they are for mine. I need to touch the earth with my bare feet or I’ll go bat shit. Know what I mean? Or can you keep your beast happy without leaving the city walls? If you can, I’d love to know how.

I’ll share more of Luna, Beth, and a romance writer’s private inner workings later. If you want to read more about Beth, be one of the first to comment, and I’ll send you a free, signed copy of Luna: Book One of The Luna Chronicle. Or check out another female misfit in the serial I published here on my blog. Titled Wolf Love, it’s free for the reading.

Thank you for coming along for the ride.

~S.C. Dane

#Paranormal romance release

Happy Thanksgiving, All! I have much to be thankful for: Kenrickey: Book Three of The Luna Chronicle” is now available at Melange Books, LLC.KenrickySCD3-sm

Back Jacket Rumblings:

In the northern Maine woods, a wolf pack unlike any other reigns the landscape. With the ability to shift into human shape, they are the supreme rulers of their territory. Until the real humans threaten their secret realm…

Ken Rickey is one of those humans. Until he’s entrusted with the secret of the wolf-people, an honor he’ll do anything to uphold. For among the wolf-people, Ken has found loyal friends in Armand and Eaen, two of the younger wolves in Luna’s pack who share his sense of adventure.

Welcoming them to his human world and keeping them safe isn’t going to be easy, especially when there are those who suspect the truth.

An intuitive woman, Naomi Foss is quick to unearth the mystery of Ken’s two friends. Human they may seem, but there is a wildness about them which is fast consuming Ken, altering him in extraordinary ways.

But the acceptance of Naomi plunges Ken and his wolf friends into dangerous territory, where the exposure of Luna’s pack becomes a lethal reality. Can these young lovers and friends stand against the threat while keeping their secret from those who hunt them?

A Scene For Your Reading Pleasure:

            We cavorted for quite some time—chasing, snatching, biting. Armand, once he’d gotten over his initial fear, darted around just as uninhibited as the rest of us; although he and Eaen were careful about shifting in front of Naomi.

I, on the other hand, shed all of my inhibitions, and the mock hunt for Nae escalated seriously. I wanted her bouncing ass all to myself, and her playful screams were jabs of electricity to my groin.

She didn’t run very fast once she caught me ogling her like she was an entrée. Good ol’ Nae. She even feigned a limp so that I could corner her in the living room. She darted her eyes around like a trapped deer, and wedged herself into the corner by the book shelf, protecting her back. Then she lifted her upper lip in a warning snarl, even as her hazel eyes glistened and her pupils stretched to turn her eyes almost black. Her blonde hair was tousled and sweaty, and I’d never seen a creature more inviting.

My mouth found hers before I could say no guts, no glory, and sweet living jackrabbits, she opened herself to me. It was all I could do not to slide Mr. Plucky into home once the ump signaled for me to steal. Her tongue teased, tasted me, then retreated maddeningly, and I withdrew just far enough to clamp my teeth across her windpipe and cup her ass in my hands.     She gasped, and my groin ached as it grew more swollen.

The ringing of her cell phone was like the screech of a car crash, and we both flinched at the intrusion of it. Naomi groaned as she slid away toward her pile of clothes on the living room floor. Eaen and Armand stood with their legs splayed, sides heaving, and wore tendrils of frothy spit on their fur. I stood with my need so obvious my balls hurt.

            Christ, guys.

Eaen winked, the teasing turd. He saw. He’d noticed we’d all gone a bit nuts, and he loved it. Armand’s waving tail gave him away, too, but the three of us paid more attention to Nae’s cell phone call.

It was The Bear, and he wanted her and his car. She’d been gone too long already, judging by her end of the conversation. She’d promised to be back before lunch and it was past that. My, how time really does fly when you’re having fun.

She told him she’d be right there, then snapped the lid shut on her phone. And I got an unexpected explosion of jealousy in my guts.

“Don’t go, Nae. Stay with us,” I offered, and fought like hell to keep my anger from boiling over into my voice. A feat beyond me, I wasn’t exactly successful. “Tell him to fuck himself.” Oh, yeah, I was really trying.

“I can’t, Ken. Not yet, anyway, but soon,” she promised.

            Was she crying? “Aw, Christ, Nae, don’t cry.” She effing leveled me. I was a mud puddle waiting to catch her tears, and before I knew it, my feet crossed the room and my arms were wrapped around her. I’d have sacrificed daylight for her.

“Come back later, then, huh?” I pulled her away to lose myself in her shimmering eyes, which had turned green because she cried. “I’ll come get you. Just call me, and I’ll come, okay? Whenever you want.” My fingers combed her tousled bangs, tucking their length behind her seashell ear.

She nodded and sniffed, and my heart cracked. Jee-zus, how was I letting her leave?

I wiped her tears with the pad of my thumb, pulled her warm body close, then ripped myself away and edged a fair distance back to stand between Eaen and Armand while we watched her dress. Weren’t we the gentlemen? When she finished donning her clothes, the four of us huddled to say good-bye.

“We really have to talk, Nae. Soon,” I said, before she slipped out the door and into the Yeti’s car. Within moments, she was gone, but even I could still smell the snowy day in our house.

~S.C. Dane


Ten Reasons Grown Women Don’t Go Trick or Treating:

10. We are too mature for such crazy antics.

9. We don’t have to beg for our treats. We take from our kids’ goody bags like bears. We are entitled.

8. Nobody ever gives out Godiva chocolates.

7. Nobody ever gives out bottles of wine, either.

6. We refuse to be seen in our Wonder Woman outfits. We wear them under our regular clothes.

5. The smart women stay home to take the bags of candy from visiting kids. Did the tykes not say Trick or Treat?

4. We’d rather be home curled up with a steamy paranormal romance novel.

3. We’d actually rather be home curled up with a sexy vampire or shape-shifter hero from our favorite paranormal romance novel.

2. Call us crazy, but Halloween is the only time we can get away with screaming at our neighbors’ kids to scare them. Of course we’re staying home to dish out the payback.

And the Number One reason why grown women don’t go trick or treating: WE DON’T BEG. Well, all right. We do. But only in the bedroom.


What in Samhain does any of the above have to do with The Romance Studio, you wonder? #SPOOKAPALOOZA, of course! And please refer to Numbers 4 and 3 in the Ten Reasons Grown Women Don’t Go Trick or Treating. It’s romance time with your favorite shape-shifter, or vampire-slayer. Time to treat yourselves to the paranormal. ‘Tis the season for indulging your darkness.

You want a little gore with your sensuous love? Check out my three novels. Buy links and excerpts are on the right. Just click on the cover to indulge yourselves. Either story will satisfy your hungers.

~S.C. Dane