Posts Tagged ‘Paranormal Romance’

My name is Gabriel Strickland. I’m a twice baked vampire, and I got something to talk about.

West Hollywood is hot today, sunny and kinda smelly but that doesn’t mean a lot to you. Your nose doesn’t work overtime like mine. So I’ll try to keep the stink out of my blogs and look for things a double dead vampire and plain humans have in common.

In my state of mind, two topics make sense. Women … and the darkness. Not that the two have a whole lot in common; I personally think of women as being a bit lighter and brighter than men. My darkness isn’t what you think, either. It’s not the absence of light, it’s the questioning of soul that aches today. So, because I’m fighting a foul mood, let’s talk women. The thought of women doesn’t hurt one bit.

You don’t know it, but every single day you come across a whole world of different kinds of women. Human women, of course. Troll women. Pixie women. Shifter and werewolf women. Women laced with witchcraft and witches laced with humanity. Female descendents of strange gods and angels. Then of course, if the sun’s gone down, there are the vampire women. There are a lot more supernatural women than you think, probably one for every five or six human women. And let’s not forget about the half breeds and aliens, and I ain’t talking south of the border aliens either.

Don’t panic, until I became a vampire in 1933, I never knew there was anything but normal human women either. I learned a lot between my first death and second. Now, in this purgatory time, what I know makes my head spin.

Gentlemen, this is all a secret, okay? No blabbing this stuff around. Just between you and me I’ll tell you a few things that differentiate the human women from the other kinds. Take notes, boys. Crack open a beer and face facts. You’ve been with supernatural women all your lives, met them in bars, dated them, had sex with them, hell, a lot of you even married them and you didn’t know.

Here’s the breakout.

  • Troll Women. Wipe that grunt away, guys, these are nothing like you think. No, they’re not all ugly or grumpy or covered with warts. They come in all shapes and sizes, blond, brunette, redhead, round, curvy and flat as a board. What they all are is short, like gnomes and some races of leprechauns, only in most cases, prettier. How to identify a Troll Woman – Very long memories, lots of stewed meats recipes, quick smiles and loud when drunk. Troll women also have a very dry sense of humor, so buck up, you will be the brunt of her jokes. In bed, troll women are … well … damn good.
  • Pixie Women. Pixie women are the sexual dynamos of the supernatural world. Always blonde, always Barbie Doll proportioned, these gals can entertain, one-on-one or in a crowd, for hours on end. As a vampire, they were off limits. There’s a poison in their blood that renders a vampire paralyzed. I will say though, I’ve heard of many a vamp who fried in the morning sun coming into a pixie’s window simply because it seemed worth the price. My one and only experience with a full blooded Pixie woman was the very night I arrived at the holding tank (the warehouse where I live with other twice dead vamps and totally dead supernaturals.) Granted, Shirley was dead like me, but wooeee! She can sure … entertain. How to identify a Pixie Woman – Off the chart sex. Pixie women have a hard time focusing their minds on anything. According to the warehouse records, most of the female pixie population is either living in the San Fernando Valley or staring in a “Real Housewives” reality show. A pixie woman will steal your heart, exhaust the hell out of you then simply disappear. It’s not personal. She just can’t follow her own train of thought.
  • Shifter Women. A shifter woman is a supernatural woman who can change form. Although many human women can suddenly change from sweet purring kitten to full out mountain lion in the blink of an eye, a shifter woman is a little different. She really can change into a full out mountain lion, and her claws are not metaphorical, they are real. How to identify a Shifter Woman – Now this one’s a little tricky. Shifter women look and act, cook and talk, think and punish (or reward) just like a human woman. The only difference comes when they are crossed one too many times. Shifter women are, like all of the supernatural races, very secretive about their proclivities. So when they’re pissed off enough to do a full out shift, they’ll simply walk away. They’ll leave you at the game, on the beach, in the bed, on the street or in Wal-Mart and not show up again for several hours. Don’t ask where they’d been.
  • Werewolf Women. Woof, woof, howl! Oh yes, gorgeous, sexy, always have thick, luxurious, shiny hair. Tall, short, thick, thin, all variations exist in the Werewolf race. Werewolf women make fantastic mothers and nurturers. They’re houses and apartments are obsessively neat and clean but they can’t cook for crap. How to identify a Werewolf Woman – Some call it their moon time, their time of the month, their be careful, I have P.M.S. and in a bad mood time.  Facts are fact. Stay the hell away when the moon is full. Trust me. When they say they’re not in the mood, they are NOT in the mood. They need to get out, need some space, need to go out with the girls or have a night alone. GIVE IT TO THEM. That’s all I’ll say about that.
  • Witchy Women. This one’s real complicated, mainly because women laced with witchcraft and witches laced with humanity are basically … human. Something of the supernatural realm sifted through the universe and dropped on these women. This category includes psychics, telepaths, telekinetic women, mediums and many network television ghost hunters (only because they haven’t figured out yet that they can see and talk to the ghosts during the day too. I guess doing it in the dark makes better television.) In almost every respect a witch, practicing or not, aware of her powers or not, looks exactly like any other human women. How to identify a Witchy Woman – There’s only one sure fire way to know you’re with a witch. You lose large chunks of time and can’t remember shit about an argument no matter how hard you try. Lots of men like this. Personally, when I’m around a witch and I know she’s a witch, I refuse to drink anything she offers me and never, EVER look her in the eye. Not that a dead man (vampire or twice baked vampire) can be effected by anything a witch does; witches just give me the willies.
  • Descendents of gods or angels type women – I have no clue. I know they’re around and dangerous as hell, but having never (to my knowledge) crossed one, the best I can do is warn you that they’re out there, maybe working in the mailroom or as the boss’s new assistant. Maybe she’s your travel agent or dental hygienist.  How to identify Descendents of gods or angels types of Women – Let me know if you find out. Like witches, they creep me out.
  • Vampire women. Look like any other woman, always in the dark, very pale and never hungry. Best suggestion: If you suspect your date is a vampire, wear a turtle neck and ask for I.D. Most of us vampires have no driver’s license, no social security card, no charge card, no nothing. We don’t need them … well, when I was a living vamp, I didn’t need them. How to identify a Vampire Woman – Offer her a lobster and caviar dinner at the most expensive restaurant in town. When she says “no thanks” … run like your ass is on fire.
  • Alien women. From outer space. Sometimes interesting looking. Smarter than the average bear and always wearing the most expensive perfume. How to identify an Alien Woman – If you don’t know, I can’t help you. But, I hear they are good for some pretty kinky hard-core sex, if you’re into that kinda thing.

What a wonderful world of female fancies we live in! My preference is and always has been … human women. So keep this all under your hats guys. Thrilled to help. If I can save one man from a miserable … uh … what? … Oh shit … um …

My literary maker, Deborah Riley-Magnus,  who wrote Cold in California (the book I’m in), just informed me that women read this blog too.


Cold in California, COMING SOON!

Cold in California cover, lg



I’m guessing that hearing a vampire say “I’m hungry” might be kinda scary for you mortals out there, but chill, okay. I’m a double-dead vampire. I don’t drink blood anymore. I eat food. Yup, food. Just like you.

I’m not real sure why you’d give a crap about this subject but my literary maker Deborah Riley-Magnus, who wrote Cold in California (the book I’m in), tells me I should talk about whatever I feel like talking about. Given the fact that I don’t want to talk about being twice baked, I don’t want to talk about my job these days – which is to consciously earn my way into heaven or hell, an irritating concern persistently nagging at me – and figuring that you’d all just move on to some other blog if I went on a confession spree and blathered about the crap I did as a living, bloodsucking vampire … I’m thinking food might be a safe subject.

I’ve had me a few lives, three so far. I was born on a farm and grew up during the Depression. That little historical accounting error showed up in the Indiana corn fields long before it reared its ugly head in the big cities. Needless to say, food wasn’t much of an extravagance. At thirty-something, I met a vampire and he met me. Lights out.

During the next almost eighty years, I lived in the dark but food was always somehow in the picture. Honestly, if I wasn’t watching humans eat, I was smelling what they ate hours earlier. If I wasn’t noticing a commercial for Pizza Hut on the television over the bar, I was working as a short order cook back in the kitchen. Yeah, of course I worked. A guy’s gotta make some money sometimes. Never was one for just stealing. Maybe I had too many hard times to force them on another man. So sometime … I cooked. I wasn’t real good at it and the smell made me gag. Not anymore.

So here I am, lifetime number three and wondering … why me? I’m sure what you’re wondering is … why do I eat food? Let’s just say that when the Big Kahuna, the Dude upstairs, the Boss Man decided to give me another chance, he made the playing field pretty level. So, aside from being able to smell knockwurst grilling a mile away, clearly hearing the whispered conversations all the way up on Sunset Blvd. and the ability to run faster than you can see, everything else is just like you. Everything. Even the digestive system.


Let me ask you something. You’re all human, breathing, alive. You have the luxury of relishing everything available to you but do you? Really, do you? Walking along Santa Monica in West Hollywood, not far from the  … ah … place where I live with other dead supernaturals, I distinctly heard the pop of a wine cork. I caught the scent of a great red and how it blended with whatever was offered on the plate with it and I was hooked. Inside I read the menu like it was a bible. All too good to be true, expensive like anyplace that serves good wine. I couldn’t understand a word of the descriptions but I sure as hell could point and order.

That’s the difference. The experience of food is so all new to me, I can’t begin to tell you the crazy, near sexual peaks I reach. What I ate as a farmer in the 1930’s tasted nothing like this. The blood I savored since then did carry a hint of Chinese or Mexican, and on occasion a little rich French foie gras, but this? This is biting into a thousand textures, not just the firm flesh of a pulsing host. The smooth sweetness of creams, glazes, melting chocolate. The crunch of a good, hard pretzel. The sensation of pasta marinara sliding down my throat … holy blood pudding! An explosion of flavors, spices, herbs, alliums. Alliums? That’s cook-speak. Alliums are onions, leeks, scallions, shallots. In 1941 I dined on a chef’s daughter in St. Louis. She taught me about alliums, and she taught me some other stuff I won’t mention here. (We’ll just leave that for another blog, okay?)

Here’s what I know. Food’s the bomb. It’s more than nutrition. It’s comfort, indulgence, being bad without having to pay for it – until my jeans get too tight. Food makes friends and enemies. It changes and defines the human dynamic. Truth is … food is what makes humans human. Amazing. Never knew that before I died … twice. Food beats the hell out of just about anything (short of sex) as a reason to be alive.

Last word on food before I go get something to eat. My first meal after arriving in this third existence was pastrami. Amazing, tangy, juicy pastrami and I tasted that at one of Los Angeles’ most famous restaurants since the 50’s, Johnnie’s Pastrami. Go there. Eat. Tell me I’m wrong.

I dare you.

Come back again. Watch for my rants. Because … life looks real different this time.

Cold in California, COMING SOON!

Cold in California cover, lg

Okay. Introducing myself and not much more right now. My name’s Gabriel Strickland. See, I was alive, then dead, then double-dead. They call me a twice-baked vampire. From everything I knew about vampires, I was supposed to be toast after the second death. Gonzo. No more. No nothin’.

Not so.

As it turns out, some of us get one more chance, a final conscious effort to determine whether we’re going up, or going down. A last shot at heaven or hell. Neat, huh? But here’s the catch (and of course, there’s always a catch), I have to make these last ditch efforts for salvation while living out my double-dead life with a mess of other dead supernaturals. I live in a holding tank of sorts, a warehouse tucked secretly in West Hollywood. Sixty departed creatures – including other double dead vampires, pixies, a legendary Navajo stick man and bothersome leprechauns – struggle together to earn brownie points (against our natures) and wait out possible centuries of purgatory.

Okay, I’m not such a social guy and I’ve always been a loner but it’s a roof over my head. This should be simple, right? Wrong.

Being twice-baked means I get to keep some of my vampire powers, and I get a few blessings in the mix, if that’s what you want to call having to get a job and walk around in the daylight like normal people. Trust me, I’ll have a lot to say about that later.

Deborah Riley-Magnus, the author of the book I’m in … I guess you can call her my maker … was nice enough to set up this blog so I can rant when I need to. She seems to think I’m less cooperative when stressed. She’d probably right. And since she’s trying to write the future novels in the Twice Baked Vampire Series, maybe it’s best if I cooperate.

Watch for my rants. Because … life looks real different this time.

Cold in California, COMING SOON!

Cold in California cover, lg