The Undead Decider
It’s bad marketing practice to entice you to another blog but through Richelle Mead
’s posting I found It’s Not Chick Porn
, where Dionne Galace and her snarky pals vent about writing and book covers. Wanna read about a guy wearing a belt buckle as big as his balls? Unzip here
. And then come back. Promise.
Here’s another contest. This time for you poetry mongers.
Cash prizes$$ Check here: Thomas Hornsby Ferril Poetry Prize
I know you poets aren't in it for the money, but if you win, buy me a drink.
One question I get asked is, what are the vampire rules? Who decides what must the vampire do and avoid? Well, the quick answer is that I as the author decide. My way or the highway, baby.
My rules? No weepy goth stuff. A clean coffin--how would you like crumbs in your bed? Whenever an excuse to imbibe presents itself, bottoms up.
Sunlight is a bitch but giving up daylight hours makes it tough in this 24/7 world. Fangs? Of course! Bite me.
Super powers? You bet. Crucifixes? Naw, the only time my vampire ever answered an altar call was if they served sacramental vodka. Garlic? Means bad news. Not only does it burn like battery acid, my vamps have to give up Italian food. The horror.
Fellow blogger L. Vincent Poupard has his rules. To read, apply fangs here
What are the rules for your vampire?