Taige Crenshaw Birthday Bash with Aliyah Burke!

 



 

The Pantzers versus The Plotters

I must admit, it took me a while to figure out what to blog about. So after thinking on it for a while, I thought I’d talk a tiny bit about pantzing vs. plotting.

First, however, I must say a big Happy Birthday to Taige! So, “Happy Birthday!” and thanks for letting me be part of your celebration bash.

 

I’m always intrigued by other authors’ writing process. I’m curious by nature and love to hear how others create the stories I love to read. So, one of my first questions is almost always “Are you a plotter? Or Pantzer?”

Me, personally? I’m a pantzer. Full on pantzer. To have to sit down and plot a story…the thought makes me shudder. (And not in a good way) I don’t fill out 2-20 page character sheets nor do I have stickies everywhere with color coordinated strings connecting them to lay my story out for me. Yes, I know people who do this. I will say I’m impressed by those who can do that, for it’s a feat well out of my grasp.

I learn the characters as I go and am often (mostly pleasantly) surprised by how something works itself out. I love that. Love it. I want to go on adventures and have situations pop up unexpectedly. To me it makes the journey of each story all the more exciting.

I know there are those who claim their way is the correct one. Me? I disagree. No one person can—or should—tell another about your writing process. For that’s what it is, yours.

Personally, I’ve never understood how you can tell a character how they will react, everything that’s going to happen, or things like that. However, I would never begrudge your process (not other than fun of course). Writing is a craft and we each must approach it how we do best. How it works for us to have the creative juices flowing so we can paint our masterpieces. Not how a fellow author does it.

So, all that being said…here’s my big question. What say you?

Plotter? Or Pantzer?

 

 

His Purrfect Mate

Blurb

Dane Sidorov needs a break and time to heal. What he doesn’t need is a cute little and most definitely sexy distraction named, Aida Roberts. Or the emotions meeting her stirred up within him. But this dark-skinned vixen didn’t seem to realize what she had done to him, or what she means to his soul.

Aida Roberts loves her life in South Africa. She has met all kinds of people, some who need help and some who don’t, but all interesting. When she runs into the larger-than-life Dane Sidorov, she wondered if he didn’t actually need help despite his portrayal calm and confidence.

There was something wild and untamed about him as he stared at her with his amazing eyes. A feeling of “safety” and “danger” emanated from him. Would this unusual man be able to let her in, or would his secret drive them further apart? When the darkness threatens, will Dane sacrifice himself or allow her to help save him? Can he accept the fact she is nothing less than…

 

Excerpt:

Dane Sidorov sagged against the tree’s thick trunk. Blood poured from his arm, running to the frozen ground.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Much more of this and a wet-behind-the-ears kid will be able to track me.”

Reaching into the medpack he carried velcroed to his uniform, Dane grabbed some bandages and a suture kit. Gritting his teeth, he sewed up the wound, tied it off before biting through the string, and wrapping it with the gauze. Tugging down his shirt sleeve, he shoved his arm back into his white parka. Sure, he didn’t need to do it this way, but…well, it better...safer.

The bitter cold of the air told him he still lived, even if he didn’t really feel that way. His ears picked up on incoming choppers. Four of them. No doubt filled with men who’d kill him without hesitation. Dane didn’t fault them for that. It was their job.

Just like it’s mine to keep that very thing from happening.

“Crypt. Where are you?” The question rang in his ear.

Despite the pain in his arm, which actually was more of an annoyance than anything, he smiled at Demon’s voice. “Fell down a rabbit hole. Have to follow my nose.”

“Status?”

Glancing at his injured arm, Dane replied, “I’m good. Will meet at the rendezvous site.”

“See you there.”

Silence reigned, and he scanned the night sky again. Closer. They are much closer now. The choppers had grown louder. Skimming his tongue over his teeth, he began to run. Each step he took put more distance between him and the enemy. The urge to stay and finish what they’d started swamped him, and for a few seconds, he stopped and hesitated, staring back in the direction he’d come. Until duty overtook personal longings. With a sigh, Dane moved out. He progressed slower and more cautiously, closer to the extraction point. The hair on the back of his neck prickled with warning. He dropped to the ground, all senses straining to find the danger.

“Slim,” he said, getting in contact with the head of the unit.

“Go ahead, Crypt.”

“Something’s off.”

“Chopper’s here. We leave in two. Where are you?”

Dane shook his head. “It’s not right. Get out of there.” He slithered on his belly toward the helo holding his friends. His unit.

“They’re coming, Crypt. We have to get going. Get your ass here now! That’s an order.”

“Get out!” Dane lunged to his feet and began to run toward the helicopter, uncaring of the fact he totally exposed himself. “Get out of there!”

“We’re powering up. Either you’re here or we’re gonna have to meet you at the second rendezvous.”

The low whine of the chopper’s engine reached him. Dane pushed himself faster, calling on more speed. He burst from the tree line and headed for the bird. In the splinters of light he could make out the tense face of Doc.

Where’s Slim? He should be by the door. Dane couldn’t pick out his silhouette in the interior of the helo, and he could see pretty well. Two more steps were all he took before a fiery blast engulfed the helicopter, lifted him off his feet, and knocked him back into the trees. He hit hard, the sturdiness of the old tree not giving an inch to his body.

Fragments of the helicopter rushed by him, cutting through his parka and digging into his flesh. Dane didn’t have time to yell before darkness overtook him.

Voices reached him, stirring him further from the hold unconsciousness had upon him.

“I don’t know. He should be here. He was almost to the chopper when it blew. Hell, for all I know his body may have been incinerated as well.”

“Collect the rest of the wreckage.”

That voice rang familiar. Anger stirred and rose up within Dane. He could smell the gun oil and made out eleven separate heartbeats. Instinct took over, and Dane lay in wait, blending in with nature, his gaze fixed on one man of the group. A man he had trusted with his life. He snarled silently, his razor-sharp fangs thirsty for blood. The traitor’s blood.

“Wreckage is gathered, sir. No bodies. Only some blood and prints.”

“Prints?” the man asked. “Boot?”

“No sir. Animal. Tiger. And it looks like a big one.”

A loud roar pierced the frozen night. Eleven heartbeats sped up. The scent of their fear permeated the cold air. A smell which served to feed his desire to kill. Kill them all.

“I think the tiger wants us out of his area.”

“Can’t we shoot it? Always wanted to bag me a tiger.”

“No! They’re very protective of the few remaining. It’s probably tagged, and there would be a big investigation were it to be found dead or missing.”

“Damn. All that care of a dumb animal. And the people?”

“It was a Black Op. Never happened. Let’s go.”

As their chopper lifted off, another roar sliced the air. One of anger, hate, and the promise of retribution and revenge. Tawny-green-gold eyes followed the path the helicopter flew, and when it could no longer be seen, they closed, and the darkness came again.

 

Buy Link:

http://www.amazon.com/His-Purrfect-Mate-Aliyah-Burke/dp/0615827551/ref=tmm_pap_title_0

 

Bio:

 

Aliyah Burke is an avid reader and is never far from pen and paper (or the computer). She loves to hear from her readers and can be reached  here, or feel free to apply to join her yahoo group at  http://groups.yahoo.com/group/aliyah_burke.

She is married to a career military man. They are owned by a German Shepherd, two Borzoi, and a DSH cat. She spends her days sharing time between work, writing, and dog training.

 

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