I was recovering from cancer surgery to my saliva gland—of all places—when a pair of large golden spots began to glow in the back of my mind. These strange apparitions didn’t go away. Brain cancer, I thought. The surgeons didn’t get it all and the cancer’s spread to the back of my head. Just as I was ready to call the doctor’s office to make a dreaded appointment, the glowing neon yellow spots blinked. Blinked, mind you!
These spots I’d tried my best to ignore for two weeks were eyes? Well hell, I didn’t need a cancer doctor. I needed a shrink!
For almost a month as I healed, making daily trips to the doctor to have liquid drained from my swollen face, these yellow eyes watched and waited and willed me to speak to them. Now, I might be a tad crazy, but even I know better than to talk to things that shouldn’t be there.
So, one night as I was drifting off to sleep, the eyes moved. They floated from my head and into the face of a huge brown bear standing at the foot of my bed. Since I believe book characters often search for an author to write their stories, I told him he was at the wrong house. That I didn’t write children’s stories. He shook his large head. “Oh, you’re not that kind of bear?” He silently shook his head again. It was an eerie moment.
Then to my surprise and delight, he shifted into a kilt-wearing Scot with long dark hair. “Oh gee, you’re still at the wrong writer’s house. I don’t write paranormal. I don’t even read it.”
He sauntered to my side of the bed and sat. “Aye, lassie, but ye will.” His Scottish brogue sent a shiver skittering over my skin. “Scoot over and I’ll tell ye how bears came to be extinct in Scotland.”
I snuggled closer to Calvin and the bigger-than-life Scot stretched out on the bed next to me with one hand beneath his head. He told me the most bizarre, imagination boosting tale of his ancestors. He said his name was Creighton Matheson—Mathe meaning bear. I absorbed every detail of his family’s legend.
What do you think was the first thing I did when I woke up the next morning? I googled “Are bears extinct in Scotland?” They were. In fact, I found an article where the UK was trying to re-introduce the species into the Highlands. The article claimed the bears were shot into extinction by hunters in the previous century. But I had a better story…straight from the mouth of a bear shifter.
I was told by a woman who reads auras that the bear was my totem; my healer when I got sick. Who’d have thought?
My series of shifters began with almost zero knowledge of the paranormal genre. I hadn’t intended for anyone to read them because I felt like a fake writing about something I was ignorant of—but, oh, what fun I had writing for my own enjoyment.No pressure because I didn't intend to show them to anyone. My agent at the time told an editor at Random House about my “play stories.” The editor read the first three chapters of one and gave me a contract for three books in a series. The books and novellas have continued and I’ve fallen in love with the bear shifters with the glowing, golden eyes.
In His Midnight Star, Bear has made a close connection to Star. He expects her to stay in Scotland with him and his human half, but she can't. Or so she thinks. Bear brings her three heart-shaped stones as presents...
“How wonderful! Even when I leave and go back to the States, I’ll have these to remind me of you and Gunner. Thank you so much, I love them."
Bear howled and stamped his foot. He reached for Gunner’s kilt and wrapped it around Star. He pointed and his jaws popped."
“I love you, Bear, but I can’t stay. I must go back to Georgia.”
A pained roar bellowed from his throat. Would he get angry and attack? Her heart pounded a fearful beat. To her surprise, he marched to the corner of the room, sat with his back toward her and his face in the angle. His shoulders were slumped and he moaned and moaned.
Great, a bear that throws tantrums. How can I make him understand when a large part of me wants to return to Scotland once I kntow I’m okay? I’m too confused to help anyone…or anything…at this point. I need some distance to think clearly about Gunner and me
She charged into the kitchen. What few dirty dishes were in the sink were covered by a large fish Bear had no doubt thrown there. Maybe he was hungry. She carried the fish into the bedroom and dropped it on Bear’s lap. “Eat this and calm down.”
No sooner had she whirled around and made a few steps than the fish slapped her in the back. She yelped and spun in his direction. Bear’s back was to her again. Oh, two can play this game. She bent, picked up the fish, and threw it at the back of his head. He growled and started to shift.
Ah, a food fight with a shifter. No one ever accused me of being normal. Have a grand day.