Desert Breeze Author J Morgan visits the blog

When Stephanie asked me to come up with a Blog, my first impulse was to promo my new book, Love Free, Stake Hard: Love Bites Book 3. A truly amazing ride and the perfect distraction from those pesky kids being home for the summer. There, I think that's enough promo for this Blog.

What?! Are you crazy? You have a new book and that's all you've got?

Yeah, it seems strange to me, too. But, I thought instead of hitting you with the usual blah, blah, blah, I thought I'd tell you what has given me the inspiration to write. My wife. Ever since I took over our joint computer back in 2006, she has been the reason I'm able to write Romance. She taught me through loving me, what the word love truly means. June 13th marks twelve years of the best inspiration a man could ever hope for. Not to say we don't drive each other crazy from time to time—make that on a daily basis, but when you truly love someone, you work past the pet peeves and remember love means saying you're always sorry. Well, if you're a man it does.

That being the case, I figured she deserved the credit for standing beside me, supporting me, lifting me up when I couldn't write or the business got a little too much to handle. Never once has she told me I was crazy for spending most of my free time in front of a screen. Instead, through big and little things she's given me every reason to create worlds where love solves everything. Yeah, even zombie bites and unsightly hair in funny places. So, whenever you pick up one of my books, at its core is the love story I live every day thanks to her. Yes, she is Maddy from Were Love Blooms, in case anyone was wondering.

Honestly, she's all my heroines. I love to write women just like the one sitting on the couch glaring at me now as she tries to figure out what I'm up to. Seriously, Jenn is the perfect heroine, smart, funny, strong-willed and able to stand on her own two feet whether I'm around or not. She is her own person and just because we got married she didn't become a wilting violet standing in my shadow. Jenn would whoop my butt if I even suggested it. She has trained me to walk three steps behind her, but then again she is my queen and that is her due.

So, I guess the whole point of this Blog is I write Romance because I love my wife and secretly want her to be a Vampire, Werewolf or zombie. Not sure if that last one is true or not. I just love zombies. Love them a lot in fact. I digress. I think if you ask any author they'll tell you writing is a two person venture. One to click click on the keyboard and another to keep people away and tsk tsk when the trash needs to be taken out.

Before I hit you with an excerpt from Love Free Stake Hard--like you thought I'd say good-bye without at least one shameless plug for my book—I want to thank Jenn for twelve wonderful years and a future that only can get better with her in it. I truly couldn't do this without you. Okay, my bid for a really big anniversary pressie is over. Now onto the excerpt!



Love Free, Stake Hard
Love Bites: Book 3
By
J. Morgan
From
Desert Breeze Publishing

Excerpt:


"Yeah, life is full of naked surprises," I mumbled, turning toward the naked surprise of the moment. "Deme, grab your things before somebody goes blind."

A loud roar tore the words from my mouth. Whipping my head toward the sound that came from right above us, my ears popped as my jaw dropped. Massive cracks scrawled their way across the concrete and glass that made up the ceiling. Dust rained down into my gaping touristy mouth. In my own defense I'd never been killed by the Wal-Hell before. That fact alone entitled me to a gawk. An unhealthy dose of losing my religion rolled from my lips as the whole thing gave way. Just my luck. The one time I go shopping in the middle of the night, and the Hellmouth decided to open up.

My brain had barely got over the shock of death by Wally World when Deme wrapped his body around me -- every naked bit of it -- and tossed me to the floor. If it wasn't for the dying, this could have had some very pleasurable possibilities. Too bad he was ten years too late for me to work my I-don't-want-to-die-a-virgin magic on him. His body clenched above me as I heard the rumble of concrete smacking the floor followed by the tinkling of glass raining down. Dust clogged my eyes and nose from each teeth-rattling impact.

Coughs tore through me in spite of the press of his body around me. I found myself snuggling my face into the ripped muscles of his chest. Breathing in the rich musk of him, I fought the urge to nibble that tantalizing flesh. Forget sticking my head in the freezer, I needed a dunk in the Arctic. I should have been praying or something constructive. Instead I wanted to run my mouth over him and make him yelp. For all I knew, we both could be dead and this was just the pregame show before the fires of a very bad place started licking my nether regions. Believe you me, with the thoughts running through my head, harps and puffy clouds weren't waiting on me.

Content to enjoy my few remaining moments in skankdom, I missed Deme moving off me. Only the dry air hitting my smooching lips, alerted me to the fact I still numbered among the living. Blinking the smut -- no pun intended -- out of my eyes, I sat up. Smoke and the remaining dust cloud obscured the room. The cries of someone came from the direction of electronics. They were soon joined by others. The smog cleared enough for me to see Michael unconscious on the floor. He didn't look hurt but he didn't appear to be in the shape for much of anything except lying there. His chest moved up and down in a regular motion. None of the big chucks appeared to have landed on him so he should be okay. I let out a sigh of relief at that. From the looks of things, whatever had happened appeared to be localized to the dressing area. Lucky us.

Deme let out a grunt as he staggered to his feet. Somehow or another, his makeshift kilt still clung deliciously in place, cuts and one particularly nasty gash covered his bare flesh. If it hadn't been for him, I'd be dead. I shivered at the thought. Then another one hit me just as hard. This wasn't an accident! I swiveled my head in a fair Linda Blair impersonation, just knowing Medusa and the girls were about to come in guns blazing and finish the job.

Sure enough, figures began to take form through the fog. This was it. They had decided not to wait on me to make up mind. Scrambling to my feet, I opened my mouth to warn Deme only to shut it. Monks boiled from the smoldering carnage. Okay, maybe I was dead.

"No one expects the Vampiric Inquisition!" The leader yelled, planting his fists on his hips.

And gone straight to Monty Python Hell.