Witch's Familiar by Christine DePetrillo

I've been known to do witchy things. I love nature. I grow stuff. The moon fascinates me. I like spells and incantations. I believe in the power of intention. I wear crystals and stones when I need protection or healing or just an extra boost.

Maybe I own a cauldron...

And up until last month, I spent 18 years with the best black cat witch's familiar in the world.

This is Shikari. She passed away in April and there's a hole inside me. I know she was paired with me for specific reasons. Our souls were destined to cross paths. We gave things to each other that we couldn't get from anyone or anything else. We told each other secrets.

I miss her terribly.

From the first day we got her, she had such personality and buzzed with energy. The word "shikari" means hunter and she did slink around like a miniature panther, making prey out of leaves blowing in the wind, mouse toys filled with catnip, and coils of ribbon. We grew catmint in our back yard so she could roll around in kitty bliss during the summertime.

She was a talker too. She had meows that sounded like "mama," "now," "hello," and "no." You can call me crazy (you wouldn't be the first), but I have people who can back me up on her vocabulary skills. She always seemed to use those meows in the right context too.

The house is so quiet without her.

I come home from work, and though I have my dog and another cat to greet me, it's not the same as hearing Shikari meow "hello." She made us smile and laugh. Though she wasn't a cuddler, she'd pop onto my lap for a few minutes and do a quick check in, headbutting me and purring loudly.

In her later years, her health really declined and it took a great deal to keep her going, but she continued to wake up each morning and demand our attention.

Until her fire finally burned out.

And even then, she was considerate in how she left us. I had scheduled a vet appointment because it was clear that she was nearing the end of any brand of comfortable existence, but the decision plagued me. I felt such extreme guilt. Like... who was I to decide her fate? She rescued me from that guilt though by dying two days before the appointment. She actually waited for both my husband and I to come home from work. She allowed us several blessed moments to be with her and we literally watched her take her last breath. It was both heartbreaking and consoling. She was the first pet I ever owned and I felt her loss immediately, powerfully, but I also felt such relief that her suffering was over and that we hadn't had to actually put her down. She chose to leave. She'd done what she'd come here to do and would be bathed in peace now.

So I'm a witch without a familiar, but it was an honor to have owned (or perhaps be owned by) such an enchanting feline. If you ever get the chance to adopt a black cat, go for it. You won't be sorry.

You'll be bewitched.


Toodles,
Chris
www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

Do I even have a writing process?????

THE WRITING PROCESS OF R.E. MULLINS


When asked, I quickly jumped at the chance to take part in a blog series involving an author’s writing process. I was pleased to be included. It wasn’t until later I found myself asking. Do I even have a writing process?

What have I done and what am I working on? 
Well, I’ve published three books and I’m working on the fourth. Surely, there is something I can contribute…

How does my work differ from others in its genre?

Right now, I’m finishing a series of vampire/romances. The Blautsaugers (old Bavarian word for bloodsucker) live in Amber Heights, Missouri along the Amber River. They belong to the strongly regulated Nosferatu sect of vampires.

My vampires are essentially humans with an extra chromosome or two. These additional links on their DNA chain gives them some added umpf. They, of course, possess the vamp characteristics of blood diet, longer life, ability to mesmerize humans, extra strength, speed, and healing capabilities. Due to their extended life span, however, they mature very slowly emotionally. The vampire’s tween years start in their forties and last until they reach their majority at one hundred years of age. 

Humans have the ability to stay up all night by devising ways to function in the dark. This was accomplished with the inventions like electricity, lightbulbs, and coffee. My vampires are the same. They have the capacity to work during the day and go out into sunlight. Of course proper precautions are necessary. (Didn’t you know sunscreen and sunglasses were originally invented by vampires?)

Family dynamics and affairs of the heart remain the same whether human or vampire. And, as with all emotional beings, things are never easy. All hearts have a mind of their own.

So why do I write what I do?

I’ve always been an avid reader. While working in a medical laboratory a storyline presented itself. What would happen if a phlebotomist were turned into a vampire? She could use the lab as a means for getting blood…I sat down and began writing. A wonderful co-worker read these piecemeal chapters and constantly encouraged me to continue. However, I couldn't have stopped if I wanted to. Writing quickly became an obsession. 

By the time I stopped, I’d written a 93,000-word document. I gave several more friends thick notebooks filled with the copied pages, got their feedback, made changes...and then it all stalled. I didn’t know what to do next.

I searched out the local chapter of Romance writers in my city and attended a meeting. I planned to ask that very question: What is the next step after typing 'the end'? 

Entering the library's backroom, I found half a dozen people sitting around a circular table. Honest to goodness, they were all so pale they practically glowed in the dim light. I couldn't help but wonder if the only time they ventured outside was to attend these meetings. Or, perhaps, I'd stumbled into a coven meeting by mistake? Or were they the very vampires I'd been writing about?

Since the meeting had already started, I quietly took a seat where the head witch...er, I mean leader indicated with a friendly wave of her hand. The lone man was already in the process of handing out copies of the first chapter of his new WIP. He seemed quite excited about his new storyline. The pages, however, were received with enough indulgent comments that it became clear to me this was standard procedure. Evidently, each month the group read, critiqued, and actually edited the latest of his first chapters. From things they said, I gathered that by the time the next meeting rolled around he would have abandoned this beginning for something new.

I also learned he'd never finished anything beyond the initial chapter. Since then, I must admit, I've spent more time than probably necessary feeling bad for him, and wondering why he could never make it over the hump to complete a second chapter.

Throughout the meeting they spoke of publication as if it were the Holy Grail. Every so often I caught one of their gazes and knew I was covertly being scruitinzed. This didn't bother me as I was doing the same. Yet I couldn't imagine what they must be making of my tanned skin and the sun freckles I've accumulated, despite liberal doses of sunscreen, through hours and hours spent outdoors.  

When it was my turn, I told them about my finished novel only to be met with frank disbelief. Almost censure? "What did I mean?" One demanded with a touch of amusement. Was I actually claiming to have written an entire novel of over 90,000 words without prior experience? No short stories, poetry, magazine articles, or writing contests? 

Evidently, long ago school assignments didn't qualify.

I accepted their attitude that I hadn’t paid my dues and therefore it was quite doubtful I could get published. Thoroughly demoralized, I left feeling stupid, and as if I’d behaved presumptuously. I never went back to another meeting.

At home, the manuscript was shoved into a cardboard box where it gathered some dust as I accumulated rejections from agents and puglishers. Then I discovered the Wild Rose Press. Hesitantly, I followed their submission guidelines. To my shock, I got a call from one of their editors, and, eventually, the book was published. 

I’m leaving out the laborious tale of the lengthy time it took me to rewrite the manuscript - twice - during an extremely heavy editing process. But that’s the story of how my first novel, IT’S A WONDERFUL UNDEAD LIFE, was written and published. 

I'd like to stress the moral to this publishing quest. Have a little faith in yourself, and don't let naysayers discourage you from reaching your goals. Because I lacked self-confidence I allowed an insulary group to convince me that a book they hadn't even read wasn't worthy of publication.

There is nothing wrong with creating for your own pleasure. You don't have to be published to feel the pride of writing a book. That, in and of itself, is a major accomplishment. 

Yet, in hindsight, I believe those six, pasty-white people had forgotten this. They spoke longingly of being published but they'd become so afraid of  criticism and failure that they'd stopped trying. To them, it had become easier to never look beyond that first chapter. Why? With an unfinished work they were never faced with the hard decision of serving it up for possible rejection. 

Yet it is through constructive criticism that our writing improves. Editors and publishers aren't attacking you personally when they reject your book or ask for a rewrite. They are versed in current marketing trends and reader preferences. Use their critiques and suggestions to learn and grow your writing skills.

So how does my writing process work? I admit it's pretty haphazard. When the words are flowing, I can sit at the computer all day long. When the words stop, I go for a walk, garden, or hop on the riding mower. I've the most groomed lawn in the four-state area. Or I might flop onto the couch and stare into space, whine to anyone who will listen, and live in my head until the voices come back. 

I’ve tried outlines, timelines, and other techniques but sometimes my characters refuse to bend to my will. They are certainly a headstrong bunch. For example, I’d no idea a demon was going to pop up in my second book: VAMPIRE IN THE SCRYING GLASS 

BLURB
It's been a rough couple of years for Cailey Kantor. Facing her first Christmas alone and bad financial news, she prays for an angel to fix her problems. Instead, a sadistic, sociopathic vampire, with the goal of starting a vampire war, attacks her and forces her to drink blood stolen from the Nosferatu Gabriel Blautsauger.

Gabe must complete Cailey's turning or she will die. In doing so he risks losing his yet unfound soulmate. But something about the lovely mortal speaks to his heart. Once her transformation is complete, he and Cailey find themselves embroiled in a battle that could cost them all they hold dear.

Faced with lies, abduction, and betrayal Cailey wonders if the vampire she is falling fangs over heart for is in it for love or if she's just a means to stop a war.

Blurb:  From the first moment he laid eyes on her, Rafe Blautsauger loved Morgan Maguire. Yet the lovely mortal must never know as love between human and vampire is strictly forbidden by the Nosferatu council. Unable to stop, he keeps to the shadows while protectively watching over her. Soon he begins to suspect she has secrets of her own. Hailing from a long line of witches, Morgan turned from her magic when, as a child, her first casting went horribly awry.
 Now a sequence of events set in place before her birth sends her scrambling to regain her power. Vampires and a set of malevolently glowing red eyes hunt her. 

Blurb:  Vampire Metta Blautsauger is known as the family airhead and she works hard to keep up the façade. It’s the perfect cover as she goes from dispensing her own brand of justice as a vigilante to an agent for Orcus, the Nosferatu shadow agency.
Captured, tortured, and left for dead, she is forced to leave both the agency and Lucas O’Cuinn, the mentor she’s grown to love.
For the last century she’s struggled with regret and boredom. Then her life is given new meaning when four mortal ministers ask her help in stopping a human trafficking ring. If Orcus discovers her unsanctioned involvement, they will brand her as a rogue. The penalty is death. It’s only a matter of time before Lucas arrives—stake in hand.
Lucas O’Cuinn has waited ninety-eight years for Metta’s return and he’s run out of patience. It’s time she remembers she belongs to him.

Buylinks: Amazon, The Wild Rose Press
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