No, I'm not selling real estate, although I spent twenty-one years in the business, I'm talking today about where we as authors/writers locate our stories.
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| Scene of French Quarter--Photo Courtesy Cynthia Arsuaga |
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My husband, Mike, and I returned from New Orleans on Monday
from the Anne Rice Vampire Lestat Fan Club Halloween Ball and Undead Con. This
was the second year we've attended. At the last minute, we were asked to sit in on an author panel with Sherrilyn Kenyon! We met new fans, sold some
books and made new friends along with reacquainting with old ones.
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| New Orleans Cemetery--Photo Courtesy Cynthia Arsuaga |
My husband is from New Orleans and every time we go
back, he likes to take me to places I haven’t been. Old hat for him, but for me
inspiring. This time we went to the cemeteries and were rather cool. The
mausoleums are interesting, especially the very old ones. The grave sites gave me more
inspiration for adding details to a story I’m writing located in New Orleans. A
paranormal. Vampires. A secret society. Voodoo. A ménage.
Do you tend to place your stories where you live, have lived or want to visit?
My answer is, of course! Mike and I co-authored two
books taking place in New Orleans and we’re working on the third in the
series which will occur at Mardi Gras. The Shifter Tales revolves around the story of Drake Martin, former
assassin turned private investigator, and shape-shifter—a Yorkshire terrier.
Yeah, it sounds weird, but he is a sexy shifter. At least, that’s what I think
as well as everyone who has read and reviewed the story. But, back to New
Orleans. We put quite a few sights into the books and plan to do so in the
future. In a way, I’m hoping by reading those stories using the Big Easy as the
backdrop will bring interest back to the city since the devastation from
Hurricane Katrina. With that in mind, may have to do a story because of the
recent destruction by Hurricane Sandy. Hmm, that’s an idea and inspiration!
Here’s the blurb and an excerpt (never seen before) from the
first book in the series, Top Dog—Shifter Tales 1. Until next month, ENJOY!
Drake Martin is a unique shape shifter. Instead of
transforming into a ferocious animal, he morphs into an eight pound Yorkshire
terrier. Six year old Kady Hartley rescued him from an animal shelter. As
"Precious" he was her "bestest friend" for twelve years,
leaving when she started college. Ten years later they cross paths. He’s a PI;
she’s FBI. Continuing to keep his abilities secret from her, he follows Kady as
she pursues a case. Accompany them on an odyssey to New Orleans investigating
human traffickers and watch the fur fly. To protect Kady, Drake remains in the
shadows. For her sake he puts aside his loner life and accepts protection and
assistance of the local shifter pack under its leader, the Sufi. The pack and
Drake soon discover they have a common cause, leading to a bloody confrontation
with the Russian human traffickers.
During the adventure, will Drake and Kady rekindle their
loving friendship or will it become much more?
Oh boy!
EXCERPT:
This is one of the funny scenes where Kady (Drake’s love
interest) doesn’t know his real identity and he has to keep morphing back and
forth to keep that secret. Drake is given access to her apartment in order to
install surveillance equipment while she’s at work. The property manager knows
about the “dog” and is in the opening part of the scene until Kady comes back
unexpectedly and Drake has to come up with a story.
Mid-morning the next day, Mr. Bowman let me into Kady‘s
apartment. Certainly wouldn‘t do for anyone to know I had a key. Earlier I
informed her about the deal I‘d made. Installation of the camera required
access to her apartment.
“Where‘s the dog?” he asked, noticing Precious‘ absence.
“He likes to hide, I guess.”
“Not much of a watchdog, is he?”
Walking him to the door, I said “No, he doesn‘t seem to be.”
Standing in the tub with camera and tools in a leather belt,
I began. An hour later found me still drilling the pilot holes for the cameras
bracket screws. The sill had a steel plate. I broke two bits drilling three of
the six holes. Sweating and cursing the foul fates bedeviling the project, I
didn‘t hear the front door open. It wasn‘t until a voice tinged with alarm,
cried out from the living room,
“Where‘s Precious?”
Kady!
“He‘s around somewhere,” I answered in a normal tone,
belied by a frantically racing brain. “He was just here keeping me company.”
By then she was in the other bedroom searching with rising
alarm. I stripped down and just before morphing shouted, “I found him. I‘m
sending him out now.”
Kady‘s face lit up with a relieved smile showing two pearly
white rows of even teeth as I pranced through the door stopping for appropriate
stroking. “Don‘t scare me like that, you little dickens.”
I nuzzled her, wedging a black triangular snout into the
space between arm and breast. She giggled. “Don‘t be so fresh.” Directing
attention to the bathroom, she shouted, “I‘m taking my little guy for a walk.”
Ignoring the lack of response, she allowed me to lead her
outside. Anxiety over the prospects of exposure made a naturally hyper terrier
demeanor shift to overdrive, facilitating completion of the purpose for the
walk.
While we strolled along the path, I wondered if I needed
more drill bits. Did Mr. Bowman have a supply I could tap? Soon enough we
climbed the stairs onto the covered, open air breezeway.
“I‘m back,” Kady announced throwing open the door and
unsnapping the choker leash which thankfully had no collar. I scooted into the
bathroom where Drake was supposed to be working and morphed back, turning in
horror to see Kady entering the bedroom with an eye set on the bathroom to
inspect my work.
“Don‘t come in,” I said, standing naked with head and one
shoulder showing from behind the door.
Staring frankly at the bronze colored sinewy ball joint, she
asked, “Why not?”
“It‘s warm in here so I stripped down, and my tools are
scattered all over. I‘ll be out in a sec.”
“Is Precious in there?”
“Yes, he is. The little stinker won‘t let me go anywhere
without following.”
“That means he likes you.”
“I guess I‘m in then.”
“More than you know,” she muttered under her breath,
inaudible to human ears but not mine.
Watching her walk to the kitchen, I warmed inside. Preparing
a lunch salad, she offered to share the trove only dieters or rabbits would
appreciate, mentioning at least twice she frequently came home for lunch. I
knew better, of course. The natural aversion to strangers roaming free through
your residence brought her, or I dared to hope, it because she wanted to see
me. Either way, I declined the salad. The wet dog food from earlier and Linda‘s
stale thermos coffee conspired to make a cold, sour lump in my stomach.
“The job‘s done. You‘re all set,” I said as she finished
the salad.
“Good.” We walked to the door. Opening it, she said, “I
have to say goodbye to the Little Dude.”
My heart froze. “Oh, don‘t disturb him. He was sleeping so
peacefully on your lounge chair.” I chose what she knew was the little guy‘s
favorite spot to nap.
Doubtfully she agreed as I applied gentle pressure guiding
us through the open doorway. After locking the door, she turned to me. “That
was very nice what you‘re doing for Mr. Bowman.”
Peering down at the blue eyes rolled up toward mine, I knew
the moment had arrived. “Would you like to go to dinner tonight?”
A triangular sparkle of white teeth and pink lips joined the
indigo gaze. “I‘d love to.”
“I‘ll pick you up from work?”
Kady frowned. “No, I have to feed and walk Precious first.”
Oh boy!
“I have an idea. My day is on the light side. If it‘s okay
with you, I‘ll get here at say five, get Mr. Bowman to let me in, and take care
of the little guy.” My mouth still refused to utter the word Precious.
“You would do that? How wonderful.”
So much for worrying about a stranger rummaging through her
apartment. I guess asking her out moved me into a more trustworthy category.
When the yellow Beetle whipped into its parking place that
night, the pretty owner found me waiting. “Drake,” the driver said, “I didn‘t
expect you here in the parking lot.”
“My car is over in guest parking. It was easier to wait
here.”
“I want to look in on Precious. I haven‘t seen him all day.”
I took her elbow. “Time is short. We have a reservation at
Pinchon‘s for six.”
Subtly resisting my effort to guide her in the direction of
my car, she asked, “You fed and walked him?”
“Done.” I resumed urging her to the car.
“What about water? Did you freshen it up and fluff his
bedding and fill the kibbles bowl?”
“Done, done, and done. Let‘s go.”
“Okay, I guess.” She said doubtfully.
Cynthia Arsuaga
Erotic Romance Author
