That about sums it up. When life hands you lemons you make lemonade, right? What about when it clobbers you with lemon-sized hail?

I'm sure some wise-guy will say, "melt it down and you've got water". Yeah--water and a concussion or three. So here I am trying to dodge the hail, and afraid to stand under a tree for cover. With my luck lately, lightning would be the next force of nature to strike.

July was supposed to be MY month. Finances were going to improve and that elusive agent was going to make themselves known to me. Instead, finances took a nosedive and all I've heard from agents is how the economy sucks and they're not taking on many new clients.

My supposed "new job" is not working out as planned--surprise, surprise. In fact it's not working at all--or rather I'm not. Turns out I'm losing money--in gas and such. You see, I only get paid if I have a client. The business is new, so there are no existing clients.

And if that's not bad enough, my muse has abandoned me. This is the most writing I've done in a month.

Good-bye, July. August, be kind.

Thank heaven June is over. The only good things about it: I went to Salem, MA., though technically I left for Salem in May. The second thing is my son came back from FL. Yay!

I'm grateful the weather held up while in Salem, but once I returned home it was rain, rain and more rain. I had too many cancellations in my "pay the bills" job, which has made paying the bills challenging. And, all the deaths in June.

So welcome, July. I hope you bring a lot more good things than June, but uhm, it's cloudy and crappy out. Just sayin'.

From my WIP The Hanging Tree. In this snippet the MC, Angelica, is experiencing a dream of a past life. This ties into a journal her daughter was given. In it is the writings of a woman who lived in a local Manor built in the late 1600's.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wasn’t particularly tired. I grabbed the journal to read a few more entries. Drifting off to sleep, I heard a voice.

“Who are you?” A redheaded woman asked. I assumed she was speaking to me.
“My name’s Angelica.”

I found myself in what seemed like a kitchen or dining room with a large hearth at its center. The woman was grinding herbs with a mortal and pestle.

“You’re not going to tell are you?” she asked.
“Tell? Tell who and what?” I looked around and saw in the reflection of a glass cabinet that my long hair was twisted up in a bun. It’s usual tawny color was brown, and I wore a woolen dress that reached the floor. The fabric irritated my skin. I held a long cloak in my left hand. The young woman wore almost an identical garment, but the fabric looked finer.

“I have to get these herbs ready, the lass down the road is going to have her baby any day. Are you the woman Abby told me about from the neighboring village?”
“I…uh…yes. Abby sent me. Jenny is going to have her baby?” I placed the coat down on a chair and walked toward the fire to warm up. My hands and feet were cold and I noticed melting snow on the floor near the front door. The winds howled outside, but the house was warm and smelled of dried herbs and blueberries.

“No. Jenny moved to South Carolina. I’m so glad you made it, especially in this storm. There’s already a few inches of snow on the ground. Poor Abby came down with a fever, she said you were the best healer in your village.”

My eyes widened as I looked over to the young woman. “I…I try, people tell me I do help them.”
“And you’re so young to be a mid-wife.”

I stood there staring at the fire. I had no outward response, but fear settled in my bones. My mind rushed in a million directions.

Was this a vision, or a dream?

I haven't done a teaser this week due to the fact that I have no clue what WIP I want to focus on. There are approximately four to chose from. The weather has been fantastic for writing--all gray and gloomy--yet I cannot get motivated. Probably when the sun comes out I will be flooded with inspiration. Go figure.

In a perfect world, an ass-whooping would be at the expense of your enemy. Nicholas’s lips sponsored tonight’s foray into “Fists Gone Wild”. The beating was courtesy of his pal, Dex.
“I’m warning you, Nick. Knock it off,” Dex uttered.
“Or what? You know what they say about you?”
“I’ll knock your pearly whites down your throat.”
“You and what…”
Dex slammed his fist and connected with Nicholas’s face. Had Nicholas not gotten into the bottle of ambrosia, his reflexes would have been better. If he’d stayed away from the booze, he wouldn’t have made such a stupid crack to his friend.
Nicholas was also too drunk to realize he should’ve stayed down. He had been a glutton for punishment since he was a little boy. A scrapper, his mother called him. Others just called him a masochist.
“You motherfu…”
Another connection between Dex’s fist and Nicholas’s face was made.
“You’re just pissed about Noelle. I had nothing to do with that,” Dex explained.
“Enough!”
Nicholas recognized that voice. It was Skyler.
“Nick. Get the fuck out of here before I kick your ass.”
He tried to grab the bottle of ambrosia, but Skyler was faster and sober. Nicholas mumbled a few obscenities, headed for his new car, and took off to the bar.
As soon as he walked into the club that night, Nicholas realized he should have taken a table in the secluded VIP section. Instead, he sat at the bar. He wasn’t feeling very social. His body ached to either beat the shit out of someone, or have the shit beaten out of him, again. Through his ambrosia haze, he wondered about these feelings. They were happening more frequently, along with a sudden rash, which would sometimes cover his whole body. A new and odd reaction he suffered from. It first happened when the Almighty forbade him to see Noelle. His skin turned lobster red, like humans after a day in the sun.
The Almighty was the queen bitch in charge. She oversaw all of the angels in the particular hierarchy known as the Brotherhood of Light. Her other job description included watching over the humans and fucking with Nicholas. And the best way to get at Nicholas was to take away his rights as Noelle Spencer’s guardian. In addition to making his skin turn red, that decision made his blood boil.

This is from Amber's Fire. A paranormal YA. Amber is the teenage daughter (18) of Every Witch Way's Angelica Kane. In this snippet, Ian is the man trying to get through to Amber psychically. He is in the hospital. The 'person' in the dream is the demon from the previous teaser of Amber's Fire.
*

Ian thought he was dreaming again. He heard the brown-eyed beauty’s voice so clearly. He struggled to reach her, his mind tried to slough off the cobwebs that trapped him in the dark. The warmth of her hand in his caused his heart to flutter a bit faster. He wondered why it didn’t register on one of the many monitors in his room. The blips remained steady.
What was this room? Why was he in here?

Her fragrance was like spiced vanilla with a hint of citrus. Ian wanted so badly to wake from his slumber and explain to her what had happened. Over and over he dreamed of her, trying desperately to get her attention, somehow. He was drawn to her with no explanation other than he had to be with her. Plain and simple.
He was so tired; his battered body needed the healing sleep the medicines provided. Eventually he succumbed to slumber.

“It’s very noble of you to want to protect her, but she's mine.” The man who spoke to Ian was taller than he by at least four inches. That fact didn’t intimidate him.
“I don’t know who or what you are, but you’re not going to hurt her.”
“Why do you care?”
Ian knew he should have an answer, but he didn’t.
The man’s ebony eyes were flat as he stared at Ian. “Love? You don’t even know her.”
“Obviously there’s a reason otherwise why have I found her?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
Ian lashed out. “Well, I care. And I sense the fear you evoke and you feed off it.”
“Very astute. Still, she was promised to me a long time ago. She's weakening. She wants me and soon I’ll have her, forever. One way or another. There is nothing you can do about it. She’s my little virgin.”
Ian tried to strike out at the powerful man, but he was rendered motionless. “I will protect her.”
“Like you have in the past?”
“What do you mean?” Ian asked.
“Ah, you don’t even know. I’ll let you two find out. Together.”

This is the first draft--rough--rough--of my latest WIP. Louise, Rowan's friend, just arrived at Rowan's home and finds her in the massively overgrown garden. They are talking about the bittersweet vines. Louise has asked if Rowan is pulling them out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rowan squirmed out from behind the plants and stood watching as her friend struggled with something in her vehicle.
“No. I’m keeping it. Just trimming it once the berries come out.” She walked down the path toward the driveway. “What are you doing?”
“Come here. I need help.” Louise was cutting some rope with a small knife, which was attached to her keychain. “Meet Marcello. I thought he’d be perfect for your front yard, by the overgrown pond.”
Rowan helped slide Marcello, a six-foot resin statue, out of the back and stood him up on the ground.
“Wow, he’s great. I love him. Where did you find him?” Rowan asked as she walked around the statue.
“A yard sale. He’s a Roman god. Oh and there’s one more.” Louise went to the front and grabbed a snarling gargoyle.
“Louise, they’re great. Thanks. What do I owe you?”
Louise handed Rowan the smaller statue. “Nothing, it’s part of your housewarming presents.”
“You’re the best.” Rowan led the way to the inner portion of her front yard. They placed Marcello down by the eight-foot wide pond.
“Yeah, so you say.”
“You are. You run the hair salon, you’re a wife, a great friend and teacher.”
Louise smiled and Rowan noticed her chest puff out a bit. “Yes, but hubby manages the salon. Go on.”
Rowan continued with her accolades. “You’re an excellent High Priestess, which reminds me, are we meeting at your place tonight. I forgot.”
“Yup. To discuss Samhain.”
“Right, it’s only two days from now,” Rowan answered as she stared at Marcello. “I want to perform the ritual, if that’s okay. Invoking the spirits. After all, I’m a third year initiate.”
“Cool, one less thing for me to do. I checked your schedule and you’re booked from Thursday through Saturday this week. You’re a magician with those scissors. Rowan Scissorhands.”
Rowan eyed her best friend. “You priming me for something. An extra day at the salon?”
“No, I told you that you can take as much time as you need until you get settled here. Of course everyone at Magie misses you, but we’ll get along.”
“It could take years before I get settled here.”
Louise shook her head of platinum hair, styled in the trendiest bob, and sighed. “The inside is nearly done. It’s just the outside.” She waved her hand to encompass the view of the Muentseresque house.
“Yeah, just the outside.” Rowan laughed.
“Where are you going to put Marvin?”
“Marvin?”
“This little ugly gargoyle?”
“He’s got a name, too?”
“I just named him. He feels like a Marvin.”
“Just plop him on the top of the steps.”
Louise placed the smaller statue on the top step and whirled around. “Well, Ro, I gotta jet. I have a four o’clock. I’ll see you later.”
The two hugged. Rowan’s insides warmed upon initial contact with Louise. Her friend had that calming effect on her. Rowan remained in the garden, kneeled, and began to weed the area around Marcello.
Welcome to my home. She gazed up toward the sky and could have sworn she saw a smile play upon the statue’s lips. Crazy. All this Halloween stuff is getting to me.
At that moment Rowan’s cat, Bast, rubbed against her. “Shit.” Rowan jerked forward, and fell face first into the murky pond.

“That was disgusting,” Rowan said to her black cat as she sat in front of the roaring fire. “Don’t sneak up on me anymore. I think I actually swallowed some of that water. Gods only know what little creatures are brewing in there.” She gagged. “I think I’m going to puke.”
Her cat simply stared at her mistress. Rowan knew what Bast was thinking. I can’t help it of you’re a klutz.
Rowan was working on her incantation. It was a spell to help spirits cross into the light. She jotted down notes in her tattered leather-bound journal while waiting for her hair to dry and dinner to cook.
She lit her special Samhain incense to get the musty smell out of the living room and tossed a handful into the fire. She loved the fact that this house had a fireplace in the living room and her bedroom, which was right above her on the second floor.
“Spirits captured in the night, fear no more, I bring you light.
Loved ones wait to bring you home, go to them, no longer roam.
The veil between our worlds is thin, you’re new experience can now begin.” She paused. “So mote it be!”
The fire in the fireplace crackled, the flames leapt higher as she tossed another handful of incense. The scents of sandalwood, frankincense and myrrh filled the air. Normally she would love the compelling fragrance, but somehow mingling with her roasting chicken it lost its soothing nature.
She heard a crash from outside, and then a splash and a ribbet but paid no mind. There were a lot of noises coming from within and without of this old house on a daily basis. Rowan figured this was just another one. Perhaps it was the last croaking of the frog that lived in the muddy water.
She peeked out the window while heading into the kitchen. It was dark, too dark to see anything. The automatic timer on her lights clicked on and suddenly her windows glowed with amber and purple lights.
When she opened the oven and peeked inside, she realized dinner was not going to be ready in time so she shut the oven off and fed Bast. “Sorry, we’ll have some chicken later,” she informed her familiar. “I’m off to Lou’s house.” Closing the glass doors on the fireplace she breathed in deep the singular smell of the incense and let out a sigh.
She grabbed her big black bag and headed out the backdoor. “Later, Bast.”

Catching up with the Dark Crescent Coven members always gave Rowan a feeling of belonging. They were, in fact, her only family. The only family she connected to. Her mother and father moved to California ten years ago. Rowan was on the opposite coast in a little town on Long Island where she grew up.
She slammed her car door shut and headed to the safe haven of home. I really need to invest in some solar powered lights. The house was dark outside and looked especially creepy. Rowan loved it. It was like every haunted house she’d ever seen on Halloween decorations, including the nearly bare branches grasping up toward the night sky. Their skeletal fingers tried to pluck the few stars that peeked out between the clouds.
Home sweet home. She skipped up the steps, passing a pumpkin she’d purchased a week ago, not yet carved.
A brisk wind scattered dried leaves across her porch as she fumbled for her front door key. She cursed when she noticed her house key latched itself through wide opening of her car key. Damn. She shook the keys loose, finally able to unlock the door. The rusty hinges let out a mournful groan.
“Honey, I’m home,” she said to Bast.
“I’m up here, darling.” She heard a deep masculine voice answer.
She dropped her bag, grabbed her athame, and crept up the stairs.