Angels vs. Demons Blog Party

Welcome to Writer's Block-buster Blog!


If you're hitting this as part of the blog hop, then you'll appreciate short and sweet so you can get on to the next stop. And be sure to hit them all. Prizes await!


My question for you: 
In this exciting sub-genre of paranormal romances, do you prefer your hero or your heroine to be the immortal in the story? (In cases where only one is an angel or demon.) And please, don't let the cover of my pretty book sway you--the book with the lovely female angel.

Leave your answer in the comments so your name can be added to the drawings. One of you will also receive, from me, a lovely box of gourmet chocolates to eat while you read your next angel romance. Hint, hint.


Here is a little excerpt from the book: 

      She’d imagined all kinds of cravings, for all kinds of flavors during her short existence, but never for the taste of someone.

      He was looking at her lips so intently she didn’t dare move them. His lashes were incredibly long, golden brown. His nostrils flared suddenly and the entire world tilted with his face as he moved forward. His mouth met hers as smoothly as...breathing.

     She focused all conscious thought to the rise and fall of his chest, to his nearness, and she could have wept for her lack of taste in her mouth or sensation in her lips. For the first time, she mourned for the depth of experience lost to her. 

     This wasn’t the smell or feel of peaches, or the taste of corn coming apart in her mouth. This was mortality beneath her hands, against her fingers...and completely out of her reach.


NOW, hop around the party, people, and win yourself a Kindle Fire or a Nook!

The Midnight Attack--to be read in Neil Gaiman's voice

It's that time of night when you let your guard down, only for a moment--like forgetting to go back and close the front door after you've hauled in your groceries.

And in that moment, something pads through the doorway on soft feet and comes up behind you while you're putting your thoughts away for tomorrow.


"What if you can't do it again? What if you've written your last story?" it asks, before you can turn and stop the thought from finishing.


And there you are, with that question already taking hold in the shadowy layers of your brain, daring you to let it stay and get comfortable. Daring you to leave it there, just until morning.


"Let me help you test your dedication," it teases.


But you can't. You know you can't. You have to deny it, pull it out before the roots have a chance to twist their tiny spindles into you. Because it will take. 


Oh, yes, it will take...


You can't let the thought repeat, not even once. You've seen what it has done to others--others who have put down their pens to tend the lovely gardens in their minds, to spend their thoughts on things prettier than villains and conflicts and the need to throw rocks at a hero while he clings desperately to the teetering branches of a story.


But you cannot pause to imagine what that carefree life might look like for you. You cannot pause. You must spin 'round and slap that monster out of your head.


Of course you can do it again. You've done it so many times already, started with a blank page and created an entire world upon it. Something with weight. Something with girth when it's printed off. Something tangible.


It should even be easier this time. (Of course, it won't be, but you can pretend.)


And just in case, you grab a broom and chase the thing back out the door, to let it know it is not welcome in your house.


Let it wander the dark streets and find some other mind to contaminate with doubt. And with luck, the doors will all be closed. 


And if it returns, and scratches at your window, the sound will be drowned by your furious typing.


--LL Muir