My name is J. Morgan, and I'm addicted to fiction. Whew, I feel much better getting that off my shoulders. After nearly forty years of reading, my house looks like a librarian/book hoarder has taken up residence. (Hey! I am a librarian and I rarely buy books for me…I use my public library *G*) Sad thing is it's true. I love reading. I guess it should come as no surprise that somewhere along the way, I decided to become a writer.
It didn't take long for me to figure out that writing is a lot harder than I thought it would be. My latest book more than proved the fact to me loud and clear. Immortally Damned is a five year odyssey. It began when I finished the first book in the series, Immortally Yours. You have to understand that I'm a comedian at heart. The rest of my library more than illustrates the fact. Sometimes you just want to try something new. Of course, it wasn't exactly that new. I couldn't leave the paranormal world alone. I just wanted to explore another aspect of it. A darker corner of the world than the one I had already created.
Stepping out of your comfort zone is even harder than sitting in front of a blank screen for the first time. You've found your niche. Your readers are used to the chuckles you give them. What if they don't accept this child you've slaved over, cried while creating and basically pried kicking and screaming from your brain? Let me tell you. It's enough to make you close the lid to your laptop and sit quietly in the corner for the rest of your life.
So, why do it?
That is the difference between a writer and an author. Some people might not see the distinction, but to me, it's there. A writer writes. An author strives to be better than their last book. If you don't have that drive, you're not an author. That isn't to say a writer doesn't end up eventually becoming an author. I did, so there's hope for just about anyone.
Immortally Damned is in no way the end of my journey. It's just a stepping stone to the next new me. A lot of authors lose this drive. I've seen it. They get in that comfort zone and unintentionally stay there. I'm not saying it won't be me one day, but I hope not. That's why I jumped out of the kiddy pool to write something from the right side of my brain. It could be the left side, but the point is, I.D. isn't the normal me. It's the me I'd like to see more of, to tell you the truth. I'd never fully abandon my comedic side. There's too much room for growth even there, but just like you sometimes want to turn off Big Bang Theory to check in on Gibbs over at NCIS, you should have more one than one aspect to who you are as a discerning individual. Just so you know, I watch for Abby, Gibbs is just a plus.
If you've taken the time to read any of my books, thank you. I mean that. You're the reason, I'm writing. If the voices tell you I do it to shut them up, they're only partially right. I write to make people smile, cry or just plain go awwww. Take your pick. For the most part, I write to make people laugh. Immortally Damned is the opposite of that. It's also something scary. It will hopefully make you think and delve under the surface of who the characters are, to find out who they truly are. Unfortunately, the downside is you might get a glimpse of who I am, so don't dig too deep. My insecurities couldn't handle it.
Authors tend to reveal more of themselves in their work, than they like. It's the nature of the beast, or SpongeBob depending on your target demographic.
So, what is Immortally Damned about? I've talked an awful lot about what I'm about, so I'd better share time with the work behind this inner to outer monologue. At its core, I.D. is a story about redemption. Its main characters have fallen as low as they can go. They've given up on themselves, and see no reason why anyone else should care, when they don't. Caern, a half vampire, has spent the last hundred years trying to make up for some, let's say, pretty nasty habits. Eliza Marrone is a New Orleans police detective tracking down a serial killer stalking nuns. Chance, or perhaps fate, brings these two together and when it does, neither one of them will ever be the same.
When it comes to true love that always seems to be the way. Of course, since I'm the writer that is all my fault. Like, I take that as a bad thing. What is love without a few bumps to make things interesting? Which is the whole point. If it's as interesting for me writing it, that translates into interesting for you the reader. At least, I hope it does. I invite you to read the following excerpt to find out for yourself. Thanks for staying with me through this as I rambled, and as always, happy reading!
Deserting Breeze Publishing
Caern swore to never return to New Orleans, his death warrant making the choice easy. Well, easy until his past returns to smack him around. Now, he has to return to the one place where death isn't a possibility, it's a guarantee. And only a matter of time. Searching to find a murderer out to kill the grandchild he never thought to meet, he finds himself falling into a hell he just might not be able to crawl free of. His only hope lies in Detective Eliza Marrone. Falling for her isn't in the cards, but his heart tells him it might be the only thing he can't escape. Zombies, old lovers and psychopathic vampire clergy, yeah those are things he can deal with. True love on the other hand is the one thing he's always avoided. This time there's no way out. It might get him killed, or end up saving his wretched soul.
He stepped up to her and put an arm around her shoulders. "It's okay to react to this. Believe me. I've seen some crap that would make your nose hair run screaming out of your head, and it never gets easy."
As much as it comforted her to have his arms tugging her to his chest, Eliza pushed him away. "Yeah, react but drown it out before it gets in the way of doing the job."
"That's right, but sometimes you have to be human too." He gazed at the murdered nun, his eyes bearing more pain than she thought possible to see. "Being made of steel only makes you a robot. Believe me. In long run, being human is a much better option."
"Are you?" The question slipped out before she knew she had wanted to ask it.
Confusion swirling in his eyes, he looked at her. "Am I what?"
"A robot? Human?" That last word hung in the air between them.
"Mostly." He dropped his head. "That doesn't make me any less a monster."
Perhaps for the first time since this thing started she heard truth come out of his mouth. Eliza found it refreshing. Too bad the truth came with more questions than she'd ever get answers to. Pushing him for those answers now wouldn't get them for her. For now she'd bide her time, and start with the questions that had nothing to do with the ones burning a hole through her brain.
"So, what did you find?"
"This is more than a staged murder for some sick bastard's benefit. It's a ritual." He rolled his mouth into a purse. "One I've seen before. I may not be able to tell you who is doing this, but I know what is doing this."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"You're not in that world anymore, Detective Marrone. Who? What? They are two distinct things in my, now your, world." He ran a finger over the stained altar cloth. "To educate you, I'll begin with the ritual. Blood is more than a conduit for oxygen and disease. It is truly the water of life. In its purest form, it contains everything a body knows. Memories and life itself. The ritual brings all those out in the taking." He took the platter from the altar and held it out to her. "The blood was drained into this to open a portal to this woman's memories, because she either didn't know or couldn't remember what the killer wanted to know."
"What do you mean wanted to know?" She refused to buy this line of crap.
"That is something I can't divulge. It's above your pay grade." He smirked and put the patter back on the altar where it had been.
"Okay, smartass." Eliza gritted her teeth, wanting nothing more than to slam him across the altar. "If you can't tell me who, or why, tell me what?"
Caern kneaded his jaw, but seemed hesitant to speak.
"Come on, I'm trusting you enough not to turn you in." Eliza banged her hand against his chest. "You've got to give me something. I'm not breaking three laws for my health here. If you want this to be a partnership, it starts here. You're right, I know this case inside and out. Still, I don't know shit. You do. Maybe between the both of us, we can stop this bastard before he has a chance to string up another nun."
When he finally looked at her, his face might as well have been stone. His lips barely moved, but she heard the word nonetheless. "A vampire."
Eliza didn't know what shocked her more. That he said it, or that she believed him.
Where in the net is J. Morgan?