One of my one-off novels, which I have a feeling is going to turn into a series, is currently a completed Draft 0. Right now, it's running under the stunningly original working title of 'Cat Were', and isn't admitting much more than that.
However, I put up some of that Draft 0 on one of my other blogs, in segments, and it met with a very positive amount of reading. If you want to read the first few installments, the link will take you there. Fairly self-evidently (I hope) the earliest post is the start of the book.
It's due up for editing once I finish work on the second book in the Cortii series, which is currently at the 87% loading stage and sucking down most of my run time, invention and energy.
Meet Katrin Summers, Canadian, outdoors enthusiast, introvert (sounds better than anti-social), native of Vancouver's North Shore, and a were cat. Don't make the "Cat? Where?" joke. It's been done. To death, in some cases.
Katrin is a peacekeeper for the were cats of the Northwest. In her own words, she goes out looking for trouble to put down. The elders, bastions of clan tradition, aren't particularly thrilled that Katrin will work with wolves, witches and even living legends to solve a case ...
So, there's something a little odd about me. Fine, there's several things a little odd about me. This one's odder than most of the things you find out about people after one too many drinks, though. A lot of people make jokes about their wild side. Mostly, I don't. When your wild side weighs in at little over the average cougar, and comes equipped with claws that can take someone's throat out, bragging seems a bit superfluous. Not to mention not a great idea. I mean, someone who staggers into a police station right now and starts talking about watching a woman turn into a mountain lion, they'll probably let him cool off overnight in the drunk tank. Make a fact public domain, and suddenly everyone starts asking nosy questions.
It's a trend right now to be fascinated by the supernatural - vampires, mostly, but weres, magic, voodun, anything that would definitely have got you excommunicated to kebab flambé a century or so ago. It's a damn nuisance. Most of the fans are harmless in fact if not design, but the intelligence agencies? They're a real pain. Especially because I feel so guilty about propping up the stereotype of snoopy.... well, snoops, let's face it, employed by one or other of the so-called free world's democratic governments, hanging out in my brambly backyard trying to catch me out. I hate feeling guilty. I'd say it was the were-cat thing, but if truth must be told, it's probably just me.