Authors of Note: Today's Author of Note is Rose Marie Wolf. Why does Rose enjoy writing? In her own words:

Over time, the words began to form sentences and make sense. I was writing stories right and left. My second grade teacher, Mrs. White, loved my work and she was the first one to encourage me. She told me one day I was going to be a writer.

Well, I guess she was right about that.

People from all over have asked me when I began writing, or how I got started, but very few have asked me WHY.

Now that's a question I have to think on for a few minutes.

Why do I write? Well, it could be because writing is a release for me. It's how I convey my emotions when I might not be able to do so otherwise. I write to have fun, to create worlds. I write to let the world know I can do something, that I am something. I write to feel.

I write because it's who I am. I write because it's in my blood, it's my passion.

I write because I want to.

I think those are all pretty good reasons.

Here is an excerpt from my latest release from Samhain Publishing. Hunter's Moon, book Three of the Moon Series, is about Rose and Jason Barnett—two werewolves who have tried to put the past behind them, only to discover that there's something else waiting to disrupt their lives."

Excerpt:

"I don't want to hear about Simon any more. That's behind us, love. Even if there's some slim chance he is alive," Jason shot her a look but she didn't see it. "I don't think he would come after us again. I mean, we completely ruined him."

"Rose, I know what it is I feel, and I know Simon is out there. I can't rest until I find him."

Rose took a deep breath and finally looked up at him. Her blue eyes were wide, almost fearful, but there was a touch of anger there. Jason thought he could almost smell it.

"You are letting Simon continue to destroy us," She said in a whisper. "I'm scared, love. I'm afraid that, if you go on like this, he will tear us apart."

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   Instead of reaching out to comfort her, as he might've done in the past, he turned from her and looked toward the window. The sun was up and there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   "You have to listen to me, Jason. I'm sorry I hit you." She touched his face and her hand was warm, as he expected. His jaw no longer throbbed, but he wouldn't have been surprised if her hand had left a large red print. "I was just so angry with you."

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   "I know. I don't blame you," he drew away from her and walked across the floor. He began to work the coffee maker, putting in a new filter and filling it with coffee. He poured the water in, switched it on. Rose still stood where she was.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   "Can't you just forget about him, and move on with your life, our lives?"

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   "Is that why you came here, to argue with me, to change my mind?" He reached for a mug in the cabinet. When Rose didn't say anything, he turned to look at her.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   Her cheeks were red and wet from tears freshly fallen. He made a move forward, but Rose signaled for him to stop and he came no closer.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   "I didn't come here to argue with you," She began in a soft voice. She wiped at her eyes with the palm of her hand. "I came because I want you to come home and forget about Simon. Put the past behind you and focus on our future, our family, our pack. We all need you."

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   Jason could only stare at her. He breathed in deeply, caught a whiff of that strong scent once more. This time he recognized it. It was the scent of female arousal, musty and strong. It was almost maddening, this scent, now that he was aware of it. She was in heat.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   He took a deep breath before he could say anything. "Rose," He said softly. Once he recognized her scent for what it was, it was overwhelming. He had to look away, as if that would help. "Rose, I can't do that."

Much Love Always,

Rose Marie Wolf

www.rosemariewolf.com

rosemariewolf.blogspot.com

www.myspace.com/rose_marie_wolf

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Teasers (interesting facts that might stir a story some day soon): Those shiny and reflective fish which so draw our eyes, and frequently take a starring role in our aquariums? A new study has determined that the unique shape of the skin's guanine crystals is what provides that intense reflectivity. This is an anti-predator camouflage response, for fish which swim near the water's surface. There's no point denying that these are flashy fish! I went to the zoo last weekend, and in the penguin enclosure, where wee penguins were swooping after their food, it was the food—flashy fish—which kept catching my eye! It should have been birds that fly underwater, instead! For more information, visit http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2008/01/0801 14100008.htm" title="http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2008/01/0801 14100008.htm" target="_blank"http://www.sciencedaily.com/r.... 

Save Your World: Free rice (learn new words and donate rice as you do it! Always a favorite!) http://www.freerice.com/index.php" title="http://www.freerice.com/index.php" target="_blank"http://www.freerice.com/index...

Excerpts: From ErRatic 

Emma glanced blearily at the clock. Three a.m., and Studley obviously needed to go out. He was whimpering, deep in his throat, and his cold nose kept nudging her arm.

Damn dog! She reached out and gave the silky coat a pat. Zombie-like, she stumbled across the room, to the front door, and unfastened the lock. “Out!” she commanded, punctuating it with a squeaky yawn.

When she opened her eyes again, the man was standing on the grass, just off the porch.

It was a very small porch.

She slammed the door and locked it, then raced through the house. She kept picturing Him running, trying to beat her to the back door.

It’s locked. It’s got to be locked.

It was, but she didn’t feel any better. No one had any business standing there, on her property, at three in the morning. He was up to no good.

She ran for the kitchen and picked up a knife in one hand and the phone in the other. The knife shook in her frozen fingers. Not a good thing. He’ll use it on me.

He damn well better not try. Her shadowy reflection in the window glass was that of a madwoman, brandishing a blade. Her staccato movements glinted across the toaster face, and she jumped, slashing the air.

Hysteria burbled up, like an unwanted belch, before sense clunked in with a nearly audible jolt. Window. Nightlight. He’ll see me. Frantic, she dropped onto the floor, and punched in a fumbling “911”.

If he saw me, I hope he saw the knife, too.

She shouted into the phone, “There was—!”, realized she was shouting, and quickly hissed, “There was a man!”

Why the hell hadn’t Studley barked?! The damned dog had practically dumped her in the killer’s lap!

The Police Operator was offering instructions now, and Emma listened to them blankly. She’d just recalled something very pertinent to her case.

“N-Never mind,” she said, replacing the receiver with shaking hands.

A dream. It had to be a dream.

But it wasn’t and she knew it. It was what she’d tell them, though, when they asked.

She sat there, huddled, too scared to challenge the near-dark. Her eyes were already scrunched closed, but now she drew up her knees and buried her face in her arms.

Shielded. Safer.

Not really.

She couldn’t afford to move now, even if it meant lighting the house. She was too afraid of what she might see.

She nestled her head deeper, to block her ears.

Too afraid of what she might hear.

She hummed a little whimper, deep in her throat the way Studley had. Just enough noise to challenge any other whimpers in the room.

When they came with the squad car to check out her call, she’d have to get up—but not till then. Then, it’d be okay—maybe even safe.

Why hadn’t Studley barked? That one was easy—now that she’d remembered.

About Studley.

He’d been dead—for almost a week.