As I've said before, I love the sheer variety of books available in the market today, and being able to share that here with you. I've had an author on my blog before whose book was about romance on the Scottish Highlands, one who wrote about The Witness Protection Program, one who had Edgar Allan Poe as a character...it goes on and on! But I've got to say...I don't believe I've ever featured a book about a were-leopard, didn't in fact know that such a thing existed, until now. Please welcome the writer of our guest post today, author P.J. Schnyder!
Things I Do When Writing
Authors multi-task sometimes while they’re writing and I’m no different. A pretty common thing is to have a load of laundry going while in the midst of a word sprint. Sometimes there’s something baking in the oven or bubbling in the slow cooker.
While I was writing Sing for the Dead, I did all these things. I also did a couple of unusual things.
One that might have sports fans irritated with me was attending a baseball game. Yup. Roomie has season tickets at Camden Yards. Good seats too. I keep him company sometimes and get word sprints in during slower innings. I’ve gotten a lot of looks and one particularly passive aggressive lady saying unkind things about my general appearance and how I didn't deserve to be sitting next to roomie. Hey, roomie likes having me with him even if I’m writing some of the time. That’s all that matters.
Possibly the oddest thing I’ve done though is break in new shoes. Seriously. I pull on the cute new heels and let them stretch a tiny bit around my feet as I sit with legs outstretched on my couch and write. Aside from the practical outcome of heels broken in, I also feel a bit sexy while I’m writing. Not a bad thing. ;)
Do you multitask while writing or reading?
Play find the PJ around the Internetz:
Kayden, a lone were-leopard allied with the London werewolf pack to keep the zombie infestation in check, is used to working solo—until he discovers a beautiful fae woman surrounded by the aftermath of battle. He’s immediately drawn to Sorcha, but quickly discovers she’s much more than a pretty face.
Half Bean Sidhe and half berserker, Sorcha trained over centuries to become the perfect warrior. She agrees to work with local weres to investigate a new type of zombie capable of coordinated attacks—and is partnered with Kayden. He’s strong, darkly handsome and completely unafraid of her. And his kiss fills her with insatiable desire instead of bloodlust.
As Kayden and Sorcha work together, their attraction grows and their deepest scars are bared to each other. But with the force behind the deadly new zombies poised to overwhelm the city, Sorcha can only pray that the next time her bloodlust strikes, Kayden isn’t among the fallen…
Taking the Serpentine bridge helped speed her along, man-made though it was. Crossing running water posed no deterrent for her. Others of fae blood might have paused in the hunt, but the zombies shambling through the bare trees in these parks were not her quarry.
No. Pursuit was not her purpose. Rescue was. The feeling of wrongness, the taint of spoiled magic, worsened as she crossed from Hyde Park into the Kensington Gardens. Perhaps the lake separating the two parks kept some of it from spreading. What humans called the Long Water remained relatively clean of the pall of death exuding from the land.
The trees in Kensington Gardens were bare skeletons this deep into winter in London—sleeping, but restless, tugging at her heart. Would the trees be too sickened to bring forth new life after their roots had bathed in blood? Parks like these provided sanctuary for the lesser fae and Fair Folk living in cities such as London. Without them, the fae who’d made the city their home, braved cold iron, would fade. And for every city lost, the Under Hill shrank as well.
Even if mortals ruled the world, the fae needed to maintain a presence in order to keep the balance of things or their world would fade from existence. She’d been sent to investigate why the fae of London were disappearing, and she’d found death walking. Stupid humans, coming in after dark, to hunt and be overwhelmed, to loot and be taken by surprise. Perhaps such short lives made for stunted memories. Though the zombies found prey too often in these gardens, the humans kept coming. She didn’t Sing for those, the ones who’d done humanity a favor by taking themselves out of the gene pool.
No. Her Songs aided the passing of worthier souls. A tortured cry rang out in the night, sending ripples through the magic saturating the land, tainted as it was. She ran harder. Perhaps she could be savior this time, and not simply witness to death.
The zombies were gathering, called not only by the sounds of struggle, but also by the disturbance. Like sharks drawn to an injured fish in water, it was as if the zombies could sense easy prey. Unnatural as they were, she’d no doubt zombies were animated at least in part by magic of some kind. The parks used to be the reservoirs of old magic in the city. They’d become death traps.
As she broke through the trees, a brownie stood atop a mound in the children’s playground, a curved dome with tunnels for children to crawl through in play. Good that he’d chosen higher ground, bad that he’d allowed himself to be surrounded away from any trees or route of escape. Maybe the mound had reminded him of a hollowed hill, the way the tunnels led beneath it.
Gentle in nature, brownies like him tended places and buildings, their magic sympathetic to home and hearth. They weren’t bred to fighting, weren’t trained as soldiers the way she’d been. While he could turn boggart and create minor havoc, he wasn’t meant for true violence and was no match for the dead trying to eat him. But she was.
Red haze encroached on her vision. Sorcha reached for her swords, drawing them free without slowing her pace, embracing the sweet song of savagery rising in her blood.