I get these emails from some of our French speakers, too, who don’t realize that I am extremely fluent in French (I sometimes think and have dreamed in French, and I was a French tutor in college and I have worked as a translator). But what I use in the books is *not* French. It’s Cajun, which is an entirely different language. Similar, but very, very different. For that matter, I can tell what part of the US someone is from depending on if they use the term: buggy, cart or basket. A boot and torch in the US are not the same as they are in the UK. “Less all pass a good time” makes no sense to most English speakers and is not technically correct English, but anyone who’s familiar with Louisiana will know exactly what I’m talking about. I do this to add realism to the books.

Languages are living beings and they change all the time, from year to year. Bad used to mean bad, but now bad is good, depending on context. Language is often contorted to make a point or emphasize something (in Shakespearean England a double negative was used for emphasis by even the most educated, and yet today an English speaker would “throw down a hissy” at its use). And then there are some expressions that just don’t translate such as “blowing a raspberry” which was translated as “throwing a raspberry” in one of the French editions. The word *war* in modern English is the direct opposite from Old English where the word meant to take counsel (i.e. be wary). So is precocious, which meant stupid not all that long ago, linguistically speaking. And if you handed someone a coffin and told them to get a stew in 14th century England, it would be entirely different than the image modern man sees in his/her mind. I am very sorry if that has irritated or annoyed any reader. It was not ignorance or lack of care on my part. I am very careful and do copious amounts of research for each and every book. Anyone who knows me, and anyone who has ever sat in one of my classes will be the first to tell you that I take language and history very seriously. However, I do want my worlds and people to seem as real to others as they are to me. That is the goal I set with every book. And again, I am very sorry for any discomfort or annoyance my attempt at realism and capturing the feel of a place or phrase caused any reader.

Hugs!

GC has always meant a lot to me. It was the first college I attended after high school. Sadly, I’d never heard of it until my bff Red Kim (‘cause we know how many Kim’s are in my life- so they all require monikers) wanted to do a road trip during Spring Break to visit campuses. It was the first one we went to, but the one that I liked the best. It’s a beautiful school and it ended up being one of the most influential schools on my life. And for those who don’t know, I attended a total of six different colleges and universities over the years (UGA, Millsaps, GSU, MSU and Emory for one semester). Out of all the ones I attended, GC has always been my favorite.

While at GC, I was the junior editor for their paper The Colonnade I don’t know if anyone remembers the national publicity back when someone entered a side of beef in the Miss America contest (that was me, LOL). It was a campaign we staged at the Colonnade. Ironically, Red Kim was first runner-up that year and I swear I didn’t know she was in it when we entered the beef. I would never, ever have done it had I known she was in it- I love her too much. It was actually a protest against the overly stringent rules which were ridiculous at the time and not against the candidates.

Anyway, I was music director and then general manager of the school’s radio station for three years. It was there I began Terrorist Radio- a punk show I did from midnight to 4 AM. I was also a Resident Advisor at Wells, Adams and Terrell Halls– and on the first day of registration when we opened the halls, I would wear a loud and tacky Hawaiian shirt so that new students could remember and find me if they needed help (now you know where Nick gets that part of his character from).

Oh and we used to do paranormal investigations and seances in Sanford, Atkinson, Russell, Lanier and Ennis. And I worked for Milledgeville Update which was the school’s TV station. The best part of it all? I met my hubby in Atkinson Hall in a sociology class, and he proposed to me on the steps of the building.

But not everything was always rosy… Twice I was called before the dean because my student loan checks hadn’t come in (I had to work three jobs to pay for school which explains the above, and had no extra cash), and they were going to toss me out for lack of payment. To their eternal credit, though, they worked out a plan for me to make small payments until the check came in, which I then promptly paid the balance with. It was a rare kindness I have never forgotten.

Back to happy thoughts- I remember, I used to meet hubby in the library to study. It was there that I would research writing markets and publishers to submit to (the web wasn’t here quite yet and the internet was mostly libraries and government). I owe eternal gratitude to the wonderful GC librarians who spent hours helping me locate info and borrow books from other libraries (inter-library loan is still one of my fave terms). I also worked in that library as one of my many jobs.

One of the neatest things in the library though, was that it housed the Special Collections Exhibits. It was a magical room that had manuscripts and memorabilia, and in particular Flannery O’Connor who had been a student there, had her own section of the room. While I attended GC, I was published in the Peacock’s Feet which is their literary journal named in her honor and it still is one of my proudest achievements. Dr. Ferrell was extremely particular about what she let into it.

I also worked as an English peer tutor. Yeah, I really did have a lot of jobs and it was there I honed my ability to function with no sleep at all. Something that has definitely served me well in my life.

Anyway, I can’t count how many times, I’d go to that room and stare in awe, wondering what it would be like to have something I wrote be considered good enough that a university would want to archive and feature it. And GC has now done me that esteemed honor, too. I get misty-eyed every time I think about it! It’s an amazing feeling. Thank you, GCSU! Words honestly fail me and we know how often that happens :) You’ll probably need a crowbar to pry the smile off my face. Not that it’s going anywhere soon. I am so humbled and touched.

They’re holding the ceremony this weekend and unfortunately, I can’t go :( But I’m hoping to get down there soon so that I can meet with the library staff and they can tour me around the updated facilities which are much larger nowadays (the computer lab used to be in the basement of Atkinson when I was there and you had to sign up on the list and wait for hours to get one). Both GC and I have come a very long way, and that school will always hold a very special place in my heart.

Oh, but hang on… I do need to mention one other thing. They have the year I left wrong, LOL. I actually left GC in 1990. Hmmm… But that’s all right, I will definitely forgive them :) Heaven knows, I’m queen of the typos myself. I would never smite someone else for something I’m sure my CE’s have gone gray over.

I now have this page bookmarked just so I know I’m not dreaming and that it’s real gcsu.edu/alumni/alumniachievement.htm .

BTW, the first building in the photo is where I met my hubby, and where my group used to meet to start our paranormal investigations. One of the resident halls I lived in is just two buildings down and Red Kim lived in the one next door (Bell). Hubby proposed right there on those steps while I was sitting on the upper ledge where the lamp post is now.

THANK YOU, GCSU!!

First, I can’t tell you how excited I am. This is going to be E-P-I-C. We couldn’t be in better hands for the this- I promise you. I haven’t seen the script yet, but I did get a copy of the treatment. Tom really outdid himself (I did get a peek at his upcoming Stronghold script OMG!! I can’t wait to see that movie. It’s going to be amazing, too. Medieval zombies?! What more could I ask for?). The best part is that Tom gets it in a way you won’t believe. He truly understands the characters and has an eye for the drama and humor.

And the ending…

We all gasped when we read it. You are going to LOVE it! I can’t imagine any DH or CON fan not adoring this. I promise. Tom has really remained very faithful to the characters and story. We also discussed the DH TV series and who the best POV character would be for it. I don’t won’t to let too much out of the bag, but I will say this…

OOOOOOOO!!!!!

It’s going to be great. Again, I can’t imagine any fan not absolutely loving this. Imagine seeing the Peltiers and Sanctuary live (along with Ash and all the DH). Ileen and Lawrence really wowed me with their ideas and suggestions. And yes, we discussed casting and they suggested names that I feel will be incredible assets should we be able to get them. Actors I know can more than carry those parts. But I don’t want to say anything more lest I jinx something.

That being said, here’s one teaser. The actor they want for Acheron… yes, he’s tall and he’s everything- E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G- you dream of Ash being. Finger-crossed we can have him as Ash.

We are moving forward with everything and I will let all of you know as soon as I have more details. I can’t wait to share more!

Hugs!

It also includes the following letter from Sherri:

In the book, Infamous, a classmate terrorizes fellow students by spreading lies and posting a site that exposes everyone’s secrets. Brynna is the first and primary victim. Because of those lies, she is still, a full year later, having to deal with the fall-out. With the help of Nick and LaShonda, she finds a courage she didn’t know she had and she ends up writing the manifesto for the ABB. It’s excerpted here so that it can hopefully help those who are going through a bad time. Please feel free to share this.

If you’re the person in need, please hang in there. Believe me, no one knows your pain more than I do. I know what it’s like to be a kid who has no haven. To wake up every single day, praying that your whole life is nothing but one long nightmare and that today, you’re finally going to see that none of it was true… Only to be slapped in the face, literally and figuratively, the minute you open your eyes. I know the pain of not being able to tell anyone. That fear. That horror. The part of you that dies a little every day while you bleed internally and silently where no one can see. I know what it is to walk the halls of a school and be mocked for things that you can’t help: Your dark broken teeth that haven’t been fixed. Teeth that were shattered when you were hit in the mouth with a glass Coke bottle. Your unfashionable hand-me-downs that don’t fit. To graduate in a borrowed dress that is beige and not white because it was all you could get. To not have your diploma right away because you couldn’t afford the fee, or a class ring. Not even invitations for graduation. To sit in class every day while your stomach rumbles and gnaws, and to swallow air because you’re starving and you don’t have money for lunch, and breakfast is something you only see on TV.

My family situation was bad. The kids at school were worse, but some of the things that stung most were from teachers who mocked me, too. As a young woman and child, I kept thinking, “Why can’t you just leave me alone? Can’t you tell how much pain I’m in? Can none of you see that I’m barely hanging on?”

But then, I was good at hiding my pain. I had to be in order to survive. Let no one in. Trust none. Any information about you, can and will be used to torment you more.

I still believe it doesn’t have to be like that. When I was in eighth grade, my lifelong best friend (who became my friend because I fought a bully who was picking on her), asked me if I was afraid to have children. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll abuse them, too?” I was horrified. “I could never make a child of mine feel like this,” I assured her. “I wouldn’t do this to my worst enemy.” And I’ve lived my life by those words.

I wish I could say my bullies ended with my school days, but they didn’t. I was penniless and homeless a few years ago and I saw a side to people that I wish to this day I was still ignorant of. But through it all, I refused to let those “haters” turn me into one of them. I will not be that person. I will not lash out and I refuse to live their horrid life. As Socrates said, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” I don’t know what demons drive them to their cruelty, and I’m grateful that I don’t. Even though I’ve seen it firsthand, I don’t understand how anyone can laugh while they hurt another. How someone can take pride in their cruelty.

When I die and face my creator, I want to be able to say that while I might have stumbled and fallen a few times in my life, I never, ever lashed out intentionally at anyone. I don’t want to be one of those bitter old creatures who robbed me of my childhood and innocence. One who, when they died, people applauded. I don’t want anyone to curl their lips when they think of me and to say, “You know dead just ain’t dead enough.” When I die, I want to be like my older brother and have people smile with tears in their eyes and say, “Dang, I really miss her. She was fun. This world just isn’t as bright with her gone.”

Life is hard and there are no guarantees. There have been so many times when I wish I could go back to me in those hours that were so dark and that seemed to be unending and say, “It does get better, Sherri. I promise.” Because back then, I didn’t know for sure. I hoped, but that hope came with a high price as I questioned my intelligence and sanity for believing in something that seemed ludicrous. “After all you’ve been through, girl, how can you have anything left? What kind of stupid can’t let go when it’s obvious this is the best there is? They were right. You ain’t nothing but an ugly waste of space.”

But don’t give up. Don’t give in. Do not listen to them or you when your mind echoes their cruelty. Fight for your life and your happiness. Believe in yourself. You are beautiful and you deserve your dreams. You do, and if you keep going, they will come to you. I have been kicked down so many times and so hard that I swear I have a boot heel permanently pressed into my forehead. You can’t imagine how many people have come at me for no reason whatsoever. Even now, all these years later, I have a hard time sleeping at night. I hear those voices and their hatred. They are the demons that continue to stalk me, but you know what?

They lost. I’m still here. And in spite of them and everything they tried to take from me, I am happy. I have three wonderful sons who mean the world to me- boys who love me, flaws and all. And I have a husband that all the experts and critics told me I couldn’t have. He is a man in every sense of the word and he has held my hand through the worst imaginable nightmares. I am nothing special. Believe me, I know. I come from unbelievable poverty (my childhood home didn’t always have running water or heat or electricity and for most of my life I didn’t have a bed). I was that dyslexic kid who was mocked to the point that as an adult, I won’t do a public reading. It even manifests verbally. Because I was hit in the mouth so much as a child, I had a horrendous lisp that made three different speech teachers tell me that I would never have a job where I had to speak in public. I was mocked for my accent, my heritage, my poverty, my stupidity and my special needs sister. I was ridiculed because the police came to my house so much that I was on a first name basis with the officers.

But this isn’t about me. I only talk about my past now because I don’t want you to give up. No one told me that I had a hope or a chance. I found salvation in fiction. That was the only place where people like me survived and things got better.

Now as an adult, I’ve met plenty of others that no one talks about who don’t just survive. We thrive. We are normal. You can’t look at us and see the scars we hide. But we are here and you will get through this, even though you doubt it right now. A better future is there. I promise you. This is your life. Make it shine. Remember that no one can make you feel inferior without your permission. There are those who will always try to “keep you humble” or think they’re “telling it like it is.” But they’re not. They’re being mean. Resist the urge to return it. Find your inner peace and bask in the knowledge that you are better than that.

The buck stops here and it stops now. We can break the cycle. We must break the cycle.

Raise your fist to the ceiling and shout: I am human and I matter. This is my time and my life. I am beautiful in spite of what you say and think. And if you can’t see that, it’s your loss.

Then blow them a raspberry and remember that you might be down today, but tomorrow is another chance for you to shine and to dance like no one’s watching. Spend your time on the things that matter… making the most of your life. There will never be another person like you ever again.

We will all be remembered by the tracks we leave in the hearts of the people we meet. You can be a light in the darkness or you can be the demon you hate. The choice is yours alone to make. The consequences are yours to face.

As for me, I have seen where that bitterness leads, and it’s a bad, bad end. No happy person attacks another. There’s no need. And there’s no limit on happiness. Believe me, there’s more than enough to go around and I don’t want to hoard it. So if I have to spread something, I want it to be warmth and laughter. And while I may not help everyone, if I can reach that one person like me as a child and young woman who just needs one moment of escape, one tiny word of encouragement, then my life wasn’t the waste they told me it would be. And maybe, just maybe, I’m not that disgusting, stupid, broken buck-toothed dog they called me. Maybe I’m not invisible anymore.

So put on your swan hat and hold your head proud. As my older brother used to tell me, we are all Veterans of a Screwed-up World. No one gets out of life unscarred. But we do reap the seeds that we sow. Bitterness gives a bitter harvest. It takes strength and determination to drive out the snakes and keep the weeds from growing in our garden (they can be insidious and crop up when we least expect them). And though we hate it when it pours, rain makes the wheat grow stronger. So send me your storm and I will dance in the eye of the hurricane and laugh while the wind challenges me. Most of all, I will relish every second of every day I live and use those lemons not only for lemonade, but furniture polish and to scrape the grease off my dishes so that I can wash it down the drain and bid it adieu.

Love and hugs to you, always! May the best day of your past be the worst day in your future.

That kind of sounds like an oxymoron, doesn’t it? But to all who have served, past and present, thank you so much for your sacrifice and service. And to the families of those who have served, may God bless and keep you, always.

Both my hubby and I were born at Martin Army, Ft. Benning, GA. Both of our fathers were career military, and served multiple wartime tours. My father spent over thirty-four years in. Members of my family have done various stints in the Army, Marines, and Navy, during both peace and wartime.

Hubby and I were originally supposed to get married Nov 18, 1990. We had everything paid and prepped when he was activated for duty Aug 1990 (Desert Storm). That was one of the scariest moments of my life. He was Transportation Corp (stationed at Ft. Eustis) and they’re always the first in. Ironically, I was working as a Civ Contractor at Ft. MacPherson at that time. My father was Infantry and my FIL a combat pilot. Hubby and I ended up eloping in a goat pasture because we didn’t know if he’d be home in time for the planned wedding.

Both hubby and his father went to military colleges. I’m proud to say that there has never been a war for this country that many of my family didn’t fight and bleed in (or in some cases, die), including the current one. I’m even a proud member of the DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution), and that membership through both my Native American and European roots.

I remember growing up, my mother had all these photos of me as a baby with notes written on the back. Sherri’s first steps. Sherri’s first real food, etc. It wasn’t until I was older that she told me it was because my father was at war and didn’t get a chance to see me until I was a toddler. Those were the photos she sent to him, hoping he’d get them. Some were sent while he was MIA and it was how she coped. She pretended he was all right and continued to write every week, even though she had no idea where he was or if he was still alive.

She said it was so embarrassing for her because I would latch on to anyone wearing a uniform and ask them if they were my daddy. Since we lived at Ft. Benning, I grabbed on to a lot men, LOL. But all I knew was that my father was a soldier and since I had yet to meet him…

Once my father returned, he used to take me to work with him. Believe it or not, I thought he owned the Army. Since he was a Drill SGT, everyone seemed to do what he told them. And I’d sit in his office cutting out soldier pictures in magazines, making a collage for his wall while his CPL would watch over me. As a kid, I could hear artillery fire at school and at our house all day long. And it was nothing to see helicopters flying low over the school and house. At night, I thought they were UFOs. What can I say? I was a strange kid :)

It’s a hard job they do, and it’s so hard to be a member of the family knowing they’re forever in harm’s way- and not just during war. I’ve lost many family and friends over the years during maneuvers at home. Those who have loved ones as firemen, EMT and police, know what I’m talking about, too. These are the men and women who put their lives second to everyone else’s. They are willing to give their lives to keep us safe and to save us when we’re hurt. My hat is off to every one of you and to all of you who, like I once did, provide support to them, and especially to those who love them. Thank you all. Each and every one of you is a true gem and I hope that not just this day, but all days are filled with happiness and love.

BIG hugs!

The next Dark-Hunter/Dream-Hunter/Were-Hunter book is The Guardian out 11/1/11. And don’t miss Ren’s book, Time Untime out next August.