Showing results by author "Robyn Peterman" in All Categories

One might think fighting the bad guy and coming out on top would earn me a vacation… One would be wrong. I’d stirred up a hornet’s nest that could end existence as we know it. Not my best move. I know more about acting than Goddess-ing, but that won’t stop me. I’m about to assume the character and plow though the script to the very end even though I’m wildly underrehearsed and more adept at sitcoms than action movies with real life consequences. Too bad, so sad.

I want to live my life in peace for a little while as opposed to pieces. I don’t know who I have to bribe to catch a break, but I’m willing to pay the big bucks. Apparently, no one got the memo. Midlife is one messy ride. Fine. I’m off to Lexington, Kentucky to find a self-proclaimed dragon who sports a mullet, beer belly and delusions of Immortal grandeur. This time he’s gone too far. He’s messed with me and mine for the last time. The way to end a dragon is to remove his tail. We thought we had. A tail is in the back. Right? Wrong. So, so wrong.

The 21st century is quite the horrifying eye-opener for a Vampyre warrior who's been in a magical coma for a thousand years. The Vampyre in question would be me. I’m so damned confused by the modern world, and getting electrocuted for being misogynistic—whatever that means—is getting old. It’s insanity. Apparently, there’s a species called Karens running in the wild. The Tube of You and the Book of the Faces are alarming. From what I understand, the Karens gather there.

The rich bloodsuckers don’t want to pay taxes. Too bad, so sad. They’re the least of my problems right now. At the wise suggestion of my beloved mate, I indulge in a little retail therapy so I don’t dismember the pissed-off crew of greedy Vamps who don’t want to pay their fair share. How could a trip to the happiest place on earth a.k.a. Target go wrong? Let me count the ways....

A dare is a dare. No self-respecting, slightly chubby, good-lookin’, crime lovin’ cat would ever pass up a dare. So I didn’t. Now, me and my boys are in hot water trying to figure out how to live on the right side of the law for a whole freakin’ week! This is complicated by a couple of hairy issues. Throw in a cryptic message from the Goddess, humans invading our town and evil, sticky-fingered groundhogs, and we have a hot mess on our paws.

Planning my own wedding should mean I'm having the time of my life...not defending it every time I turn around. Dragons, feral Wolves and Were Cows...I mean who in the hell knew Were Cows even existed? All I wanna do is marry Hank, have 2.5 beautiful little Werewolf babies, and live happily ever after while having sex on a very regular basis. Oh...and I still want to shoot stuff occasionally. Apparently no one got the memo.

What’s a tree sprite to do when she’s stumped? Get to the root of the problem, of course. Only, I wood get stuck in a tree with the warlock I love camped out next to it, mea culpa-ing for being a turdwaffle for the last decade. What should I do about it? Umm...stay in the tree and enjoy the show.

Come on an adventure with my mermaids and their unlikely heroes. Get three hilarious stories all in one big book. You'll get: Book 1 - Tallulah’s Temptation; Book 2 - Ariel’s Antics; and Book 3 - Misty’s Mayhem.

I was a top-notch Were agent for the secret paranormal Council and happily living in Chicago, where I had everything I needed - a gym membership, season tickets to the Cubs, and Dwayne - my gay Vampyre best friend. Going back now would mean facing the reason I'd left, and I'd rather chew my own paw off than deal with Hank. Hank the Tank Wilson was the six-foot-three, obnoxious, egotistical, perfect-assed, best-sex-of-my-life Werewolf who cheated on me and broke my heart.

Getting dumped by the Demon of my dreams wasn’t exactly in the game plan. Game plans suck. Throwing caution to the wind is my new motto. I used to be a semi-happily single Vampyre. As the Princess of the Australian Dominion, I have an enormous palace, a fabulous wardrobe, I don’t look a day over 30, and I have gobs of friends — most of whom would be happy to see me permanently deceased. However, they hide it well. In the violent world of the undead, I consider it a win.

Three waxed cats, one Cookie Witch, a Brazilian gone bad, and the last name Bermangoggleshitz...not the best ingredients for a successful spell. Or is it? Avoiding the truth has been working out just fine for most of my life. I'm finally happy. I have friends and a kangaroo shifter who adores me. Never in my 29 witchy years did I think I would have a place to call home with people who truly cared. Now my BFF, Zelda, wants to have a chat. Can't crappy news wait?

Not sure who I screwed over in a past life to end up with a heinous mother-in-law who thinks my wedding is for her. If I didn’t love Chance more than myself, I’d rethink the entire hot mess. Problem: I’ve been instructed to show up in Hell on my wedding day with six bridesmaids. I have two friends in total. Problem solved: Go to a supernatural plasticware party at the community center and blackmail a few gals into being bridesmaids. New problem: The gals I coerced bring their own brand of crazy to the party. Whatever. Chance is the demon of my dreams. He loves me, fur and all.

Just when I think everything is calming down, it ramps back up to eleven. On what should be one of the happiest and most romantic days of my life, the unthinkable happens. The ghosts I’d so kindly guided into the Light showed up on my front porch, including my dead husband. Something or someone is messing with the balance and if it’s not remedied, the Darkness will destroy the world.

Whoever said life begins at forty must have been heavily medicated, drunk, or delusional. Three funerals without the deceased present? Crisis. One wedding run by drag queens with questionable taste in music? Semi-crisis, but doable. Dead showing up on my porch who have already crossed over? This is what forty looks like for me. But now I have an even bigger problem. The Higher Power wants my daughter. It’s not happening. Period.

What happens when an accountant decides to grab life by the horns and try something new? Apparently a pirate named Dave, a lot of pastel fleece, and blackmail - just to start with. Visualize and succeed, Oprah said. I was sure as hell trying, even if my campaign to score a job as the local weather girl had ended in a restraining order. Okay, TV was not my strength. But a lack of talent has never stopped me before. Which is why I've embarked on a writing career. I mean, how hard can it be to come up with a sexy romance?

What in the salty seas could be more important than presents at Christmas time? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Tis’ Christmas time on Mystical Isle, and just like the fat bastard in red, I’ve made a list, and now I shall check it...twice. Yeah, twice. I might wear a diaper, but I’m not an arse. It seems I have everything under control and Christmas on Mystical Isle will be unforgettable, or I’m not the Well-Hung God of the Sea, Poseidon.

The show must go on…even if it takes a U-turn into Hell. I have too much to lose if Pandora wins. With the love of my demonic life by my side, along with the profane, toothpick-loving Keeper of Fate, and a cast of inappropriate characters, I’m going to embrace this starring role. I have to. If I can’t solve the problem of unboxing the box, my life as I know it will be over. No TV show, no close-up, and, definitely, no Emmy. So, I’m onto my next gig. I have no clue how the episode will end.

Sun and naughty fun is off the docket. Eliminating deadly Dhampirs is at the top of the to-do list. Crap. How in the ever-loving heck does a bloody note written on a paper towel and rag magazines left by Satan turn into a Vamp-hunt for idiots who think creating Dhampirs to attain world domination is a smooth move? The secret life of the entire Vampyre species is now on the line.

Going to Hell has never been on my bucket list...until now. The fact that I can speak that sentence without laughing or losing my mind is absurd. However, my life has veered into a very tricky tale that rivals any of my books. The villain has been banished. I’ve written her right into an infernal doom. Unfortunately, a few of my very dear friends, fictional and real, have been caught up in the horror story, and they’ve taken the trip down under as well. It’s my fault, and I can only see one way out...a plot twist of epic proportions.

With the darkness on the horizon, I need to clear my name and get to work. Forming a Goodness Army is on the top of the list. Shockingly, my army consists of my wacky-tabacky-smoking aunt, my high school counselor who can shift into a house cat, the town gossip who turns invisible after downing five beers, and a few fabulous others with nefarious talents. And of course, a cast of fictional characters...who I created and definitely have an opinion on how I should proceed.