Robin Roseau
Author of Lesbian Fiction

Last Wednesday or Thursday, I had a scene appear in my head. Just a scene. So I wrote it. And then the last scene of the book came into my head, and I had an idea of what I wanted to happen in between.

And the story flows into a second novel. I know how that begins, but I don't fully know where it goes.

So I set aside the Fox story. I wrote the first couple of chapters. Then over the weekend, I opened a second document, and I started the first chapter. That's now three chapters long. I'm back on the first story.

So I have four novels going on right now: these two, the Fox story I was working, and something else I'm not fully ready to share.

I need to focus on ONE at a time. Sigh. Sorry. I'll get them all out.

*hugs*

Okay, this was sort of scary. I was working on a vampire story, and I wondered what the lore is about vampires and normal food. So I did a google search of "do vampires eat normal food" just to see what I'd see.

OMG. Most of the sites talked about "real vampires" this and "real vampires" that.

Please, someone tell me the people running those sites are just having fun with it. Because if not, well, that's kind of scary.

The beignets were entirely decadent.

"I love being a were," I said, biting into my second beignet.

"Oh?" ask Angel before stuffing her own into her mouth. It was her first, and she moaned with appreciation. "Oh my god!" she exclaimed. She gazed into her bag then glanced over at mine. "You going to eat that?" she asked while reaching for it.

"Yes!" I pulled my little bag away. "But I'll buy you more."

"Why do you like being a were?" Angel asked, watching as I waved my last beignet around.

"Because I can eat these and not get fat," I explained before stuffing the last one in my mouth. "Want more?" I rudely mumbled around the warm, sugary, doughy goodness.

We were hunkered down, Serena nearly on her belly to hide from the rabbit. It had to kill her to hunt fox style, but never, not once had anyone ever complained about my hunting style.

It was one of the many reasons I loved them.

I love my fox. I love being fox. I don't have the words to tell you how glorious it felt in fur, running through the woods with my dearest friends around me. I felt so free, so... I'm sorry, I just don't have the words.

People who are intimidated by you talk bad about you with hopes that others won't find you so appealing.

I published a set of three snippets from the Privateer sequel. These are actually three different beginnings to the sequel, two of which I have decided to not use, but I thought you would still like them. Click the image to go straight to Amazon.

I'm working on Lara's novel right now told from her perspective. It's tentatively called "A Gathering of Wolves". If you have an opinion on the title, please drop me an email. I thought Michaela's stories should follow the "Fox" theme, but this is Lara's story, so I thought perhaps I should change.

It's set in the autumn, six months after the events in Fox Lost. Lara and Michaela have been together for five years. The pups are three years old.

Here's a little tiny teaser:

She stared at me, then slowly her expression softened. "And that's when you squished me?"

So, The Lady likes Orange is the New Black, and she was just watching another episode. It's an exceedingly well-done show, which means I get sucked in sometimes. It doesn't help that Lori Petty was in this episode. I have no idea if she's a regular or not.

But I find the show disturbing, and it puts me off whenever I see more than a minute or two of it. I write the types of stories I write, but OITNB puts me off. Go figure.

I watched perhaps ten minutes. It's going to take me an hour to calm down so I can write again. So silly.

It's a great show, but I just can't (shouldn't) watch it.

A guy stopped and stared at me for a moment, clearly checking me out. I turned away, ignoring him. A lot of men get it; a lot don't. This was one who didn't. He moved back into my line of vision, perhaps thinking a second look was all I needed to succumb to his charm. I turned back to my drink, offering him a good look at a cold shoulder.