Articles for the Month of May 2014

Teaser Thursday- The Pink, It Burns

This is from my M/M anti-Valentine’s story which was published in February 2014 by MLR Press. Please see the book’s page on this site for more info.



The train to the Museum of Fine Arts was crowded, as most green line trains tended to be. He and Myles had to stand, closer together than Dyer was comfortable with. He preferred not having anyone in his space, even someone he was starting to like. But he pretended it didn’t bother him.

Despite his effort, Myles asked, “Is anything wrong?”

“Just the crowd.” Dyer forced a smile. “It’s cool. I’ll be glad when we get there and I don’t feel like a sardine.”

“I hear you.” Myles glanced out the window. “We don’t have to go to the museum. If you’d rather get off at the next stop we can grab lunch or something.”

“No, it’s fine.” Dyer didn’t want Myles to change plans on his account. It was enough that Myles had chosen to include him.

“If you’re sure.”

“Yeah, it’s all good.” Dyer took a breath and moved his feet a little further apart to steady himself. “So you go to the museum a lot?”

“Sometimes. It gives me something to do, and it’s so huge you can never see the whole thing in one day.” Myles shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m a geek at heart. I enjoy the exhibits.”

“I don’t think that makes you a geek,” Dyer said. “It’s a better way to spend time than sitting around staring at the TV. At least in a museum you might learn something.”

“In theory. In reality, I just stare at the naked guys in the pictures.”

Myles said it in a perfectly bland, matter-of-fact tone accompanied by no expression at all on his face, and it struck Dyer as completely hilarious. He laughed so hard everyone around them turned to stare at him, and he didn’t even care.

This was definitely a better way to spend his day than going home and crashing on the couch.

“So what’s up with your anti-Valentine’s deal?” Myles asked when Dyer calmed down. “I told you my sob story. Did you have a bad break-up too?”

“No. Nothing like that.” The question sobered Dyer immediately. He considered brushing it off. He didn’t want to discuss his whole crappy life on the train surrounded by other people.

On the other hand, something about Myles made him think the guy might understand. Myles didn’t have a family, from what he’d said earlier. He probably hadn’t been through the same kind of shit Dyer had, but he’d been through something. And those eyes of Myles’s made Dyer think the guy would be supportive no matter what he said.

He lowered his voice as much as he could and still be heard over the noise of the train and other passengers. “Valentine’s Day fifteen years ago, my father put me in the hospital. And I almost died.”

He held his breath. It was the most he’d told anyone besides his foster family and therapists, and he didn’t know how Myles would take it.

He’d never worried about most people’s opinions, but he cared about Myles’s reaction. The guy had exchanged small talk with him many times and had always seemed interested in what Dyer had to say. Now they were becoming… friends? At least. Maybe more. Dyer wasn’t sure, but it certainly seemed to be heading that way.

He didn’t want to screw it up. And he didn’t want to hear pity. So he stood there forcing himself to look at Myles and waited for an answer.

Love Is Love…

My opinion of love doesn’t always match other people’s. I’m talking about romantic love here; obviously there are other types, such as familial love, the love you might feel for a really good friend, love for a pet, and so on.

But I’m talking about romantic love, or being “in love”. Having a relationship with someone.

In the news almost every day, we hear that someone’s ranting against two people of the same sex being in love or allowed to marry. Why? What difference does it make to anyone what someone else does in their personal life? Witness the recent backlash against Michael Sam for–GASP!–kissing his boyfriend on TV when informed he’d been drafted into the NFL! How dare he! They’re two men! What do I tell my children!

BULL…okay. I won’t swear, even though this topic really pisses me off. Because why the hell should it matter if Michael Sam kissed his boyfriend? If he’d jammed his tongue down a *woman’s* throat on TV, no one would have batted an eye or wondered what to tell their children, but because he kissed a man, it’s all of a sudden some horrible huge deal that will traumatize the next generation?


I know people who are in polyamorous relationships or open relationships, where they have relationships (or at least sex) with more than one person or with someone other than their primary partner. Hell, I”M ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE! And, oh my gosh, I must be cheating on my husband! My children must be protected! I’m an evil whore!

Why is it anyone else’s business? (And for the record, my children are teens and no one aside from hubby and me is allowed in our home. Because I know someone out there is wondering.)

Love between or among consenting adults is love. Period. End of story. And it shouldn’t be anyone’s business or concern, other than the people directly involved, what sex or gender people are or how many people are involved in the relationship.

Because yeah. Love is love.

Special Guest Dianne Hartsock

And our second spotlight of the day, Breathless Press author Dianne Hartsock. Thanks for stopping by!

Stuck on Rewind 200x300


Can Ashton let go of his jealousy and be the friend and lover that Lance needs?

Ashton has been in love with his best friend for years, watching him grow from a pretty high school boy to the gorgeous erotic dancer at the club where they both work. The problem is that Lance enjoys the attention of a variety of men while Ashton wants him for his very own.

After a day spent denying his attraction for Lance, standing by while their friend Trey openly flirts with him, Ashton decides it’s time to make his move or risk losing his man forever. Once Lance knows how he feels, he’ll realize they should be together. Or is it already too late?


“Fuck!” Ashton shouted, a mixture of anger and ecstasy as Lance swallowed again, then let his softening cock slip from between his perfect lips. Ashton leaned on his elbows, his chest heaving while he caught his breath. With a last kiss on his thigh, Lance climbed off the bed, sleek limbed and graceful, and walked to the dresser with a sassy sway of his hips.

Ashton stared after him and moaned, not sure if he wanted to pull his friend’s ass back into his arms or punch him in the face. It would be incredible to wake up with Lance every morning and make love to him. But he sternly reminded himself that they were only friends and Lance needed to stop climbing into his bed at night uninvited.

“You do remember you have a bed of your own?” he asked more sharply than he’d intended.

Lance gave him a smirk over his shoulder, making a show of licking the last of Ashton’s spunk off his swollen lips. “You told me to wake you at seven.”

“I didn’t mean… Oh hell.” Ashton fell back on the pillows and threw an arm over his eyes. He swore in exasperation when the mattress dipped and Lance’s familiar scent surrounded him. “Dammit—”

Soft fingers touched his mouth. “Don’t be mad, baby. I didn’t mean anything.”


Dianne is the author of m/m erotic romance, both contemporary and fantasy, the psychological thriller, and anything else that comes to mind. Oh, and a floral designer. If she can’t be writing, at least she has the chance to create with the beauty of flowers and bring a smile to someone’s face. Currently, Dianne lives in the Willamette Valley of Oregon with her husband, and both her children have chosen to attend colleges close to home, for which she is forever thankful.

Dianne is a multi-published author with Breathless Press, being the proud owner of her Shelton in Love series, Wee Willie Winkie—a Naughty Nursery Rhyme—and having stories in various anthologies, her most recent ones being Callum’s Fate in the Down on the Farm anthology and The Dark Bokor, part of the Walking Dead books and Three Little Men in the My Bloody Valentine anthology.





Amazon Author Page:

Flirt Promo Dianne Hartsock

Special Guest Michele Stegman

My apologies to Michele and Breathless Press for the scheduling glitch! This is the first spotlight of today, on Breathless Press author Michele Stegman. Thanks for stopping by!

The Admirer 200x300

All she wanted was a little adventure before settling into a forced, loveless marriage. How could she have known just how far that adventure would take her?

All Marcia wanted was a little adventure followed by a bright and everlasting love. So when she was being forced into an arranged marriage to an arrogant duke, who could blame her for choosing the lure of a secret admirer who sent her thoughtful gifts, cryptic notes, and gave her thrilling kisses in a dark garden? But was he asking too much when he offered a trip to Gretna Green? Or was it worth the risk to avoid a loveless marriage?


That evening at a ball, Marcia stepped out on a balcony for a breath of air. It was dark and quiet overlooking the gardens. She had just turned to go back in when a pair of hands grasped her by the upper arms and pulled her back against a broad and unyielding chest. A cheek pressed against her hair. Before she could protest, he was speaking.

“Did you like the flowers I sent you?”

My admirer! Could it be the duke, after all? No, he told my parents he is too busy for any of the many affairs we are attending except the two he mentioned. And a duke would not go unnoticed, even in this crush.

“Yes, they were lovely.”

She tried to turn, to see his face, but his grip prevented her.

“I have watched you these past weeks and longed to declare myself, to beg for one crumb of the attention you scatter so benevolently amongst these love-bitten swains who gather about you. But I did not want to be one more in the pack. Do you know what it does to my senses to at last hold you so closely? I am mad for you.”

His lips nuzzled at her neck, and she sighed. Suddenly, he turned her, and his lips found hers. It was not a chaste kiss. It was not a polite kiss. It was wild and hungry, and excited a hunger within her. His kiss sent thrilling ripples all the way down to her toes.

Abruptly, he was gone. By the time she came to her senses and turned, he was already fading away into the dark depths of the garden, the full folds of his cloak swirling behind him.


Michele Stegman is a multi-published author with a lifelong love of history. She lives with her husband, Ron, in an 1840’s log cabin full of antiques. She spins, weaves, and makes her own soap. Her daughter calls the place Pioneer Village!

Michele can be reached at, at her website,, or at

Flirt Promo - Michele Stegman



Teaser Thursday- Wild Waves

A snippet of erotica, just because…

The August sun beat down on the harbor as I led my wife Sierra to the boat I’d talked my boss into letting me use for the day. Sierra had been begging me for weeks to take her out on the boat—“take” in both senses of the word. Since Sierra and I’d opened our marriage a few months earlier, she’d become much more adventurous sexually, and she’d brought me right along with her.

Small Fishing Boat

She stopped on the dock beside the boat and covered her eyes for a moment. “I wish I’d worn sunglasses.”

“You’d look sexy with sunglasses.” I pulled her into my arms and kissed her hard. With one hand I cupped her nice round breast, currently hidden under one of my old T-shirts. Under the shirt she wore the bikini top I’d convinced her would look hot as hell on her. She hadn’t let me see her in it yet, and I was looking forward to the grand reveal once we were out on the water.

She moaned softly and pressed against me. My cock was already hard just from my thoughts of fucking Sierra’s tight little pussy bent over the boat’s seat, and I knew she could feel it.

Sure enough, she slipped her hand between us and gave my cock and balls a gentle squeeze. “Can’t wait to feel this inside me,” she murmured. “I’m so wet already. This is exciting as hell, you know.”

“It is for me, too.” I wanted to shove my hand into her cut-off shorts and find out for myself how wet she was, but I refrained. We were still at the dock, and even though Sierra had discovered a little exhibitionist streak, I doubted she wanted my boss and coworker to watch me fingering her.

I helped her onto the little boat, which was usually used to patrol the harbor, bring gas to customers who had run out, and tow motorboats and sailboats back to their home ports if they broke down. My boss was a pretty nice guy and sometimes let us captains use the boats for pleasure trips around the harbor and islands if it was a slow day. Wednesdays were usually slow.

I started the engines and cast off, and we headed out into the harbor. Even though it was a weekday, plenty of pleasure boats dotted the water. I figured we’d find a secluded spot among the islands, so I headed that way.

Sierra sat on the seat behind me, her legs spread so I could stand between them. It would have been so easy to turn around and fuck her, except for the minor matter of those damn shorts of hers being in the way. She kept brushing my thighs with her feet, and I knew damn well she was doing it on purpose.

R-E-S-P…you know the rest

I was thinking last week about respect.

Hubby and I had a conversation about me sharing something about my own life. He asked me not to, because he was afraid it would have repercussions for him, and he didn’t want to deal with that.

Even though the something has very little to do with hubby, and it was unlikely anyone would say a word to him about it (they would be more likely to come down on me), I respect his wish to keep our lives somewhat private. Particularly his life, because I admit I overshare sometimes, but that isn’t his thing.

Privacy is a big thing for me, too. Even though I do share a lot about myself and my life, I like having the option not to. And I like physical privacy; being able to brush my teeth without someone barging into the bathroom, for example, or being able to read in bed with the door closed and know people will leave me alone.

Or being able to read something online with no one peeking over my shoulder.

Computer Monitor

Hubby knows this about me, and yet a few days after we had our discussion about *his* privacy, he walked up behind me as I was reading an article about “slut-shaming” and said, “Hey, who’s the cute girl?”

Cue me losing my temper. Probably out of proportion to the situation, but… It was a matter of respect. I *respect* hubby’s wish for privacy enough that I keep something about *me* to myself. And yet he can’t respect *my* wish for privacy enough to not read over my shoulder?

In any relationship, respect is key. Without that, there isn’t much left. Hubby and I sorted things out, and he apologized, but still… Respect. End of story.

Special Guests Azalea Moone and Anais Morgan

Today I’m welcoming a couple of friends of mine from the Absolute Write Water Cooler. They’ve co-written a book that has just released, and I’ve invited them to share. And they’ve included a giveaway at the end of the post. Thanks for stopping by!

Two years ago while Tristan and his boyfriend were enjoying some privacy, a recluse demon attacked them and his lover paid the ultimate price. Since that day, Tristan has dedicated himself to finding the demon. After all, an eye for an eye. All evidence points to a recluse named Damon.

Like all spider demons Damon knows about Tristan’s mission and is forced to stay on the move. But fate has a wicked sense of humor and they must team up to fight the real killer. But when she’s closer than Tristan expected, his and Damon’s relationship is tested before it can begin.




He placed his hands on his hips. “I need to see. I need all the pieces of the puzzle.”

Kill me now, God. “I have a sore spot. It started hurting shortly after Marcus died. I’ve always meant to go to the doctor, but looking for Marcus’ killer became priority.”

“Okay. Well, where is it?”

Please God, kill me now. Not only did I not want to drop trou, but in front of a demon? More importantly, in front of Damon, and those magnificent eyes, gorgeous body, and desirable lips? How in Jesus’ name I became attracted to him blew my mind. For that matter, when? Completely out of left field. It hit me suddenly. We were driving, talking, at the mountain, and suddenly I felt it. A passion I’d forsaken years ago. Yet, here I was, my cheeks reddening. Fuck it. I sighed, stood up and began unbuckling my belt. I slid my pants down.

Damon backed up a few feet. “Umm, what are you doing?”

“The bite is on my thigh.” I lifted my boxers to just the bottom of my butt cheek. “My upper thigh.”

Damon gazed over me skeptically before kneeling down in front of me. I felt his warm fingertips touch my skin. To my surprise, I had to do everything in my power to stop from shivering. The way his touch felt, his fingers dancing over that sensitive spot… It normally hurt, but Damon was so gentle with me that it caused a different reaction. A different, dangerous reaction.

I glanced behind me. Damon looked up, his gorgeous silvery eyes gleaming with…lust? No, that couldn’t be it. But I thought it was. I drank in his gaze, the power behind those eyes. I had the urge to push him on the bed and allow our feet to entwine as we spent hours in bed together. Instead I pulled up my pants. Much smarter move.

“What do you think?” I asked.

He stared at me, a look of confusion crossing his face before he smiled and moved back to his seat. “Definitely recluse. I’d say my sister bit you.”

My skin burned from his touch. I wanted to, desired more than anything, to ask him to touch me again. I peered at him from below my lashes. He was doing the same. Fuck it. I rushed over to his chair and placed my lips upon his, claiming his mouth. The way he slipped his tongue past the barrier made my cock harden. I did the same, and our tongues danced with one another’s. He was warm, inviting, and didn’t hold back. My breath became harsh as I stilled, afraid of what I had just done.

I quickly pulled away and ran for the bathroom. Once inside I closed the door and pressed my body against it, hoping that if Damon came knocking, he couldn’t get in.

I knew I stunk. Plus I had a massive erection in my jeans. I turned on the water of the shower and got it to a nice temperature. After undressing, I stepped beneath the spray.

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Favorite music?
Damon: Metal music in all subgenres. Death metal, black metal, dark metal, you get the drift. I really can’t stand hip-hop and rap much, although I go into dance clubs and that’s all they play.
Tristan: Hard rock. Have you ever fought while listening to Avenged Sevenfold? Soundtrack to hunting.
Favorite movie?
Damon: Demons watch movies? Joking. I suppose I’ve seen a couple of movies during my time on earth. I really enjoy horror/suspense movies. They make me laugh while the rest of the crowd are freaking out.
Tristan: Very few know this, but I am a hopeless romantic.
Morning person?
Damon: Hell no. I don’t really sleep since I’m a demon, but mornings are probably the worst part of the day for me. Boring.
Tristan: Nope. I hunt mostly at night, so when I get up in the morning it’s usually on little sleep.
Place you’d like to travel for fun?
Damon: I don’t know. I’ve been almost everywhere in both spider and human form. Antarctica is fucking cold. Hated it. But I did like my visit to Japan, and I also greatly enjoyed the Florida Keys. So, either one of those would be awesome.
Tristan: The mountains have a bad memory for me. I’d just like to go somewhere that I can relax and not have to hunt demons.
Favorite food?
Damon: Flies. I am a spider demon after all. I take that back, flies are really bitter. Yes, I’ve eaten them before in spider form. Does that sound weird? In human form, I’m a pizza fanatic. Skip the flies and add some anchovies. I’m all for it.
Tristan: I agree with Damon on the pizza. Never tried flies. But I prefer pepperoni and tons of grease.

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Teaser Thursday- Last Chance Tattoo

This is from my current work-in-progress, a male/male contemporary romance. 

Fantastic Rainbow

They were moving on to talking about tattoos, which was probably for the best. Rad already felt like enough of an idiot for saying he wanted Dorsey to be his friend. Of all the stupid, immature things that could have fallen out of his mouth, that pretty much topped the list.

Dorsey hadn’t seemed to mind, though. In fact, he’d almost looked happy about it, right up until he’d gotten upset. And Rad wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think that necessarily had to do with his mentioning friendship.

“I want a rainbow,” he blurted, hoping that focusing on the tattoo design would give them both a break from getting too serious.

Dorsey raised his eyebrows. “A rainbow?”

“For the tattoo.” Rad hesitated. He couldn’t tell what Dorsey’s opinion of the idea was. “It was my stage name. Rainbow. For the time I did drag. The other queens didn’t think it was a good name, but I liked it.”

“So you want a rainbow tat to remember that time?” Dorsey looked confused. “It sounded like things didn’t go so well for you.”

“They didn’t.” Rad took a deep breath. He’d already spilled enough of his guts to Dorsey, and he hated dumping out even more. But he’d meant it when he said Dorsey was easy to talk to, and it wasn’t as if he could talk about this to anyone else. Aside from Gram, who wouldn’t have understood, and Melanie, who would probably be upset, Rad had no one else to talk to.

“I was seeing this guy,” he said. “He was a lot older. He had a thing for younger guys and a thing for drag queens, because he used to be one. So he kind of decided we were in a relationship and he wanted me to do drag, which was fine with me because I wanted to do it.”

“Okay.” Dorsey dragged out the second syllable. “Basically, you had a guy trying to recapture his youth by fucking guys young enough to be his kid?”

The description caught Rad so much by surprise that he choked on nothing at all. Doubled over in a coughing fit, he tried to catch his breath. Dorsey was absolutely right. That was a perfect way to explain Abe.

And it sucked that Rad hadn’t realized it in time to salvage his heart and dignity. At least he’d gotten out when he had. Things could only have gotten worse if he’d stayed.

“Here.” Dorsey had come around the counter when Rad wasn’t paying attention. He held out a bottle of water. “I haven’t opened it yet, so you don’t have to worry about sharing germs with me.”

“Thanks.” Rad opened the bottle. The urge to say he hoped to share germs in a completely different way was almost overwhelming, but he managed to keep his mouth shut.

He sipped the water slowly so he wouldn’t trigger more coughing, and straightened up to look at Dorsey. The man wore a tight blue shirt that was, other than the color, exactly like the black one he’d worn the day before. His faded jeans fit just right, and Rad’s mouth watered as he thought about what was under those jeans.

For a second, his fantasy from that morning floated through his brain, and he started to get hard. Quickly he took another drink and turned away, hoping to hell Dorsey wouldn’t notice.

Cover Reveal- Love Like Vampires

This summer, my second project with Dreamspinner Press will release. (My first, Bishie Sparkles came out in June 2012.)

Love Like Vampires is a male/male contemporary romance that would probably fall into the New Adult category; the main characters, Shane and Thaniel, are in their early twenties. They’re the guitarist and lead singer of a band they named Love Like Vampires, after a song called “We Love Like Vampires” by “a band from Maine,” as identified in the story. The song is real, by the band Sparks the Rescue, which is actually from Maine. In fact, one of their members was my kids’ day camp counselor eight or nine years ago. And the band is acknowledged at the beginning of Love Like Vampires. 

I don’t have the definite release date yet for the novel, but we’re progressing through the publication process, and I do have cover art that I’ve been given the go-ahead to share. So here it is!


Special Guest D.F. Krieger

The second of today’s guest author spotlights is Breathless Press author D.F. Krieger and her new book Panthers and Precincts. Thanks for stopping by!



Meet Zeara—zoologist, crime solver, and crazy cat lady. Throw a literate panther and a sexy detective into the mix and watch the trouble ensue.

People didn’t just happen to “drop by for a visit” at midnight. Whoever was on the other side of that door either had a good reason, one that she probably didn’t want to hear, or would wish they had once she finished tearing them apart.

Dr. Zeara Faxfire and her side-kick cat, Magic, are on the case when a panther is discovered during a police investigation of a missing boy. The fact the panther can write is only slightly scarier than Zeara’s attraction to Detective Markovich. Add a little magic, some mayhem, and scientific proof of the paranormal, and she ends up knee-deep in trouble. Can she find the missing boy, solve the riddle of the panther, and face her own past before time runs out? Or will the only way to give everyone a happy ending come at the expense of the job she loves?


“Mom?” Magic brushed his head against her shin before he stared up at her. It was obvious he was picking up on her body language, and she was throwing off some serious vibes of discomfort.

“Nothing, baby, I’m fine.” She smiled down at him as she inserted her keys into the door lock. A static pop shot up her arm and the world around her turned bright. Emotions, sensations, and pictures flooded her mind in a great tsunami that caused her to struggle for breath.

Open yer heart and yer mind. Let the seal release its bind. The whispered words in an exotic accent sent shivers up her spine as they echoed in her head.

Purple, red, and blue vied for dominance at coloring her perception. Visions of creatures—things—that she had no word for flashed at her. Teeth, feral yellow eyes glowing, danger! The flash of metal, moonlight gleaming, butterfly wings fluttering lazily.

Regardless of how hard Zeara tried, she couldn’t sort through them and catalogue them fast enough. The one thing that stuck out the most was the complete knowledge that none of these thoughts she was experiencing were hers. Stop! I can’t take anymore. Too much.

When the world around her had calmed and cleared, she found herself on her knees on the porch. Magic was shoving his face into hers, his cries high-pitched and frantic. Her stomach churned and bile rose in her throat, tasting bitter and gritty.

“What…the…fuck…was that?” Zeara panted as she uncurled her arms from around herself. When had she dropped down into this position? When had she wrapped her arms around herself like she was staving off a horrible chill?

She raised her gaze to stare at her keys still dangling from the lock of her door. Did she dare touch them? What if whatever had happened, happened again?

This is utter bullshit. I’m just exhausted and my mind is playing tricks on me. It’s all because of Jake’s mumbo jumbo crap that I’m hallucinating like this.

With a stubborn set to her jaw, Zeara stood once more and, after only a slight hesitation, she grasped her keys. Once more the sensations enveloped her, though they were less invasive this time. Voices cried out around her, begging for her attention, though they sounded distant and muffled. Images plowed through her, arousing emotions that her brain insisted weren’t hers. After a few moments she was able to force them into some semblance of a cohesive sequence.

A woman, her features sculpted and exotic-looking, stood before Zeara. Her hand was imposed over Zeara’s own, clasping the door handle. Her eyes were closed and her mouth moved in a steady motion that reminded Zeara of chanting. When she opened her eyes to stare directly at Zeara, they flashed the same bright purple that was streaked in her dark hair.

“The Hidden World has chosen you. Wake up, hearth woman.” The words echoed loudly and invaded Zeara’s ears long after the woman’s lips had stopped moving. It reminded her of watching a badly dubbed movie. Except a movie didn’t freak her out this badly.

A ripping noise filled the atmosphere and the air was sucked from Zeara’s lungs. She gasped and tried desperately to gain a breath, but it was like a vacuum was pulling her lungs inside out.

“Stop it!” Her scream jarred the world around her, and the sensations that were assaulting her ceased immediately. Panting, Zeara surveyed her surroundings as she tried to make heads or tails out of what had just happened.

Magic was crouched at her feet, his fur standing completely on end. His eyes were wide with fear as he stared up at her.

“I know exactly how you feel,” Zeara whispered.

Find Panthers and Precincts at Breathless Press.

D. F. Krieger Author Pic

When D. F. Krieger was banned from writing contests at her school, she immediately set it in her head that she would become a professional writer. Since then, she has thrown away her plans of world domination through books, but she still enjoys writing. Her tastes run from classy urban witches to dragons, space pirates to shape shifters. By the time she pens her final book with a hand ravaged by age, she hopes to introduce her readers to many alternate worlds, lines of thinking, and captivating characters.

You can find D. F. on the East Coast, hiding away from the real world with a gleam in her eye and a plot in her head. She resides with her husband, kids, and pets; who all kindly put up with her random bouts of laughter (over things she can’t explain) and journal collecting fetish.

You can also visit her website: to learn about what she’s writing, what she already has out, and what crazy stuff she puts on her blog.