Hi All!
Working on this novella and writing a werewolf character for the first time has, naturally, made me think of some of my favorite werewolfs. In movies I remember seeing an erotic B film years ago (like in the 80s) where the hero was a wolf and he didn't actually kill the heroine (lots of Red Ridinghood references, though - it was set in the woods, etc.), but I can't for the life of me remember the name of the movie. I loved Jack Nicholson in Wolf. As for books...Donna Boyd's The Passion is my all time favorite. I hear Angela Knight's Master of the Moon is wonderful - and it's in by TBR stack. Here's an excerpt - sounds delicious. Excerpt:http://www.angelasknights.com/masterofthemoon.htm
How about you guys? What are your favorite werewolf movies and books?
PC
Friday, July 08, 2005
Werewolf blog!
Posted by PC Cast at 10:00 PM
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13 comments:
I think my favorite werewolf book is "Wolf in Waiting" by Rebecca Flanders/Donna Boyd -- it was originally published as a Silhouette Shadows, but since reissued in another format (Dreamscapes?). It's part of a series, and reminded me quite a bit of her Donna Boyd novels in the hierarchy and setup. I love the heroine's voice in this book.
Also, a YA book "Blood and Chocolate" by ... ack, Alison Krause? The name is escaping me for a moment.
I know exactly what movie you are talking about (the Red Riding Hood), but for the life of me can't remember the name of it, either.
When I was a kid, Silver Bullet totally freaked me out and I must have read Stephen King's Cycle of the Werewolf a billion times, but haven't lately.
And Wolf -- for Jack, and also for Michelle. The last scene with her walking away...I love that.
Meljean! I had no idea Donna Boyd had written a Silhouette Shadows! Thanks so much for letting me know. Now I'm going to have to find it.
Yes, I've read Blood and Chocolate, too (as well as The Silver Kiss by the same hard-to-spell author). Loved both of them.
I have always disliked werewolf movies where the wolves are totally bad. Isn't that Silver Bullet?
PC
Okay, this may sound odd, but I adore my writer pal/crit partner Colette Denee's wolfies.
She'll be pedaling it out there in the very near future.
Why hers? Well BESIDE getting first peeky at really kewl characters in a race to find certain "things" to save the world from the evil that threatens. I get to see how Colette develops her world and magic system. I know how I develop my worlds (with VERY strange connections), but it is great to be on that ground floor seeing another author's work. ;)
Looking forward to yours PC!
LUV your stuff.
Terri
If we're going to count unpubbed werewolf novels...my good friend Shaunee Cole has an amazing wolf story that's at Berkley right now (under the hilarious working title of Making it With Lassie - A Novel of 21st Century Love). She has a new take on werewolves that is intriguing. Maybe I can persuade her to post an excerpt here...
PC
OooH! YES!!! PLEASE! That sounds RIGHT up my alley! Truly!
Just wait, PC. Someday you'll be reading, "Louie in Love." ;) It will change your view of the most innocuous things.
Ha! I can tease too!
Terri
Check out this excerpt from my fab friend, Shaunee Cole's delicious werewolf book. Love her dialogue and the unexpected use of cat humor!
I woke bit by bit, keeping my eyes closed while I took stock of my surroundings. I could hear the fire crackling, feel its warmth against my naked skin. For naked I was, though messily covered by a totally inadequate, but familiar poly-wool blend blanket with an airline logo discreetly stitched in red on one corner.
“Are you planning to lie there all day?”
I blinked several times, the blurry image of Geiza becoming more distinct with a good eye-rubbing.
I sat up abruptly, surprised to see her, and the blanket fell from my shoulders revealing my breasts. My tits are good, D-cup, delightfully full and mostly perky, tipped with nipples as perfect as small, milk chocolate marbles. I had always thought my breasts were my best, if perpetually hidden, feature, though I’d never imaged that Geiza would be privileged to see them, especially as the soft skin surrounding my nipples was bruised with (immature) hickeys.
“Cover up, darling. I’m not impressed with your tits or your sex-induced coma.”
I pulled up the blanket and grinned happily. “You’re here!” I opened my arms and waited for a hug.
“Not gonna happen, Fin. You need a shower like nobody’s business.”
I purred contentedly. Honest to God. All her admonishment did was remind me that I was a creature of pleasure and sex, Conall’s to call whenever he so chose. Six months ago that would’ve galled me indescribably. Now I stretched, thrilling in the minor aches my sexual activity garnered me.
“I’m glad you’re having a good time.” Geiza examined my plate of antipasto, neglected due to other priorities, and wrapped a bit of squid in a roasted red pepper.
“I told you I was fine.” I reclined on the couch, perfectly comfortable with my state and eyed Geiza’s traveling duds. She wore a China blue halter top dress, the décolletage of which played peek-a-boo with her navel while leaving her cleavage miraculously covered. A pattern of blood red, pearl, and jet abstract lovers à la Picasso decorated the full skirt and bodice of the dress and put me in mind of Marilyn Monroe containing her wind-blown skirt in the Seven Year Itch.
“You look divine.” My voice slurred drunkenly. I’d had two sips of wine, so I could only attribute my condition to Conall’s lovemaking. This embarrassed me. I wasn’t always meticulously groomed, but presentable; hair combed, face washed, teeth brushed, and sober enough for company at least. Yet here I was, unwashed, palpably satiated, and barely understandable. I was clearly not myself and held no expectation that I would become recognizable anytime soon if at all.
“I apologize for my state,” I said. “Actually, that apology is bullshit. I couldn’t care less what you think.”
“Jesus Christ,” Geiza muttered, stunned.
“I know.” I could readily imagine Geiza’s incredulity as it mirrored my own. “I have no idea what’s going on with me. Unless…” I clutched at my neck in a gesture of feminine astonishment. “Can good sex make you lose your mind?” I whispered it like the very utterance was a virus with the ability to affect any and all within its hearing.
“Please, okay? Just please. I only have one good nerve left,” she warned.
“Whatever. I know you saw and couldn’t help but drool like a straight-jacketed Bellevue inmate over Jacob. Werewolves definitely got it going on.”
Geiza said nothing, a clear indication that I was on the money with my guess. No surprise. Jacob was, like it seemed every werewolf I’d encountered thus far, drop-dead gorgeous. Tall, cut with muscle, virile, and imbued with a comprehensive knowledge of the pleasures of the flesh.
His hair, I couldn’t help but notice as he’d held open the door to a late model Mercedes for me after we landed was strangely auburn: a mixture of red, strawberry blond, and chestnut that drew the eye; certainly mine at least. He was tall, though not as tall as Conall, maybe six feet, maybe an inch or two more and so clearly and perfectly strong that his clothing draped against his form as if they were cut for him despite their ready-to-wear vibe. Velvety honey-colored eyes, a blade of a nose, and a mouth…the lower lip was wide and very full and he kept licking it. Maybe it was dry and he needed some Blistex, I didn’t know. What I did know was that he’d probably used that one seemingly insignificant move countless times with the same successful results: all the sex he could ever want.
“I saw him,” Geiza murmured without inflection.
“I know that it is only your pride that doesn’t endorse Jacob one way or the other. He is beautiful.” I held out my hand for the glass of wine, red now, that she sipped from.
“He’s okay,” she agreed.
“He’s a werewolf.”
She snorted, the sound beckoning fat Louie from his precarious perch on a window sill.
I said no more as a large wolf the color of an apocalyptic sunset padded into the room.
Geiza’s eyes widened and her body became unnaturally still.
I couldn’t blame her. It was instinctually for prey to freeze in an attempt to hide themselves from certain death.
The wolf was enormous, four feet high at the shoulders at least and sturdy enough to saddle and ride.
Fat Louie trotted eagerly toward the wolf and I held my breath waiting for the wolf to gulp him down like a maraschino cherry.
But the cat only meowed as the wolf snuffled his head and shoulders, then flopped on his back, slowly lifting his leg to reveal his mushy belly for the wolf’s consideration.
Geiza’s tremors shook the entire coach and I pitied her, this first glimpse of the preternatural even as I girded myself for its arrival.
The wolf licked the cat’s head lovingly.
Poor Geiza was speechless at the actions of this impossible though familiar animal and I pitied her. The first time you experienced the change, you died a little bit, once you got over the shock. You died the way we all died watching those planes crash into the Twin Towers. You mourned the loss of an innocence you didn’t even know you had; mourned it keenly and with tangible heartbreak. As with 9/11, the transformation of wolf to man indicated that we were no longer safe after years of thoughtless superiority. We were touchable, despite our belief, militarily and politically and apparently, supernaturally, to the contrary.
Geiza’s hands clenched into fists as she resisted the urge to scoop the cat out of harm’s way. Her breath was heaving out of her and her entire body shook; fingers, limbs quivered like the tines of a tuning fork.
The wolf sat, then reclined, and Louie, clearly following training beyond my ken, scrambled on top of the wolf’s back and began kneading its shoulders in a cat massage.
The wolf seemed to relax under the cat’s ministrations.
Geiza let loose a bit of a squeak, surprised that natural enemies could so genially coexist.
The air became significant and I caught Geiza’s stare, mine conveying the dread that was to come.
Louie’s ministrations notwithstanding, the wolf became tenser, raising its snout to the heavens, its eyes closing in inhuman ecstasy.
Every cell in my body anticipated what was to come, vibrating at a frequency commensurate with heightened sexual awareness. I assumed my hyper-sensitivity was due in whole to my connection with Conall. I allowed myself to indulge it, sinking into its depths like it was a synthetic and purely reliable high.
Geiza, on the other hand, was hard pressed not to flee for her life, so great was her instinct based on her inferior olfactory senses alone.
The air thickened, seemingly paralyzing Geiza, while the cat continued to knead the wolf’s back. The power of the change, physiological though it may be, inspired the atoms surrounding the wolf to ignite like the Aurora Borealis. His limbs violently, audibly broke and reformed surrounded by transcendent light.
I heard Geiza scream, sort of a horrified, syncopated moan and I clutched her hand, hoping human touch would spare her some of the terror I’d experienced watching my first change.
I had no way of knowing if I helped her or not and after a few seconds of camaraderie, I released her hand to combat my own fear of the newly known.
Barbarous crunches echoed throughout the room, disturbing only the humans, followed by gelatinous thuds as the unbearably beautiful wolf before us fought nature for his manhood.
Before I could speak, Jacob lay before me, dripping with sweat that rapidly dried, steaming the air, reveling under Louie’s continued massage while cringing at Geiza’s horrified screams.
I grabbed a handful of her artfully cut, sable pixie. “Geiza, it’s over. Shut up.” I clenched her hair in my fist and gave a decisive shake. “Quiet. It’s done.” I may have sounded calm, as if such occurrences were commonplace to me, but the truth was I was only a step or two ahead of Geiza when it came to being prepared for the supernatural.
Geiza’s gaze, wild and unsure finally met mine and I let my palm tenderly caress her cheek, wet with wonder and terror. “I told you,” I whispered. “I told you.”
Geiza shook her head frantically. “No you didn’t,” she whispered hoarsely.
I LOVE Shaunee's voice. So sexy and fun and just, well, addicting. She'll be announcing a sale one day, that's for sure! What a delight.
Wowser! PC! Excellent!
The remarks on 9/11 are spot on.
Terri (who grew up in the shadows of those towers)
See - I told you guys Shaunee's book is FANTASTIC! Let's keep our fingers crossed that it'll be out with Berkley next year!
PC
Just dropped by and my eyes popped open wide! You are the first person I've ever known to mention Donna Boyd's werewolf stories. I loved them, but I always felt bad for the humans. It sucked to be human...always ending up dead. I only know of the 2 , are there any more that I've missed? I've been looking, but maybe not in the right places?
The excerpt is terriff! Thanks for sharing!
M
That's my "Twin." Will write for wine. Hey! I know you - if you got desperate you'd drink Merlot!
You'll sell it girl. Mark my words...and I'll be at your first signing!
PC
Well, I just finished Stolen by Kelley Armstrong. Good werewolf book. I'd start with the first one, Bitten, though.
I just bought Bitten. I've been hearing so much about it. At the Smart Bitches blog some people have raved about it, and those women have excellent taste. As soon as I finish up this novella, and then wade through the line edits for Brighid's Quest, I'm going to stick my face in that book and not come up for air until I'm done! I also just bought Kushiel's Dart - have heard that it's amazing. I'm really looking forward to reading time!
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