Thursday, April 17, 2014

Character Profile: Sutter Casgrove

Sutter is a character that was introduced in The Wild Hunt. As the town of Concords Beta and former Alpha, he is tied to the Hunt like any Cwn Annwn, but while most Cwn Annwn males have an alpha gene that helps distinguish their strength within the pack, Sutter has two.

He is related to Arley Dufrey the Scent Hound. They share the same dead-beat father. Another dozen half-siblings are out there but none as close as Sutter and Arley.

He is getting a larger character profile this time around for The Otherside. His character is very present in this second installment. Sometimes characters surprise you, Sutter is definitely one that snuck up on me. I never saw him coming.

Sutter Casgrove

  1. Name: Sutter Birmingham Casgrove
  2. Age: 31
  3. Hair: Short Brown
  4. Eyes: Buttery Brown
  5. Build: Stocky
  6. Height: 5'10
  7. Personality: Southern gentleman, teaser, fierce.
  8. Likes: Hard work, animals,  loyal people, gambling, and teasing.
  9. Dislikes: Rule breakers, earth-bound spirits, needless killing.

10. Music: Rock, Three Days Grace, Puddle of Mudd, NIN, Tool.
11. Movies: Anything action, (chic flicks but you didn't hear that from me.)
12. Actor whom my character most resembles: A shorter, stockier Anson Mount
13. Clothes: Jeans, boots, my hat and shirts are optional.
14. Job: Big Animal vet. Beta to Concord pack
15. Song: "Between Us"-Peter Bradley Adams
Sutter's Family Farmhouse


The farmhouse is located in the mountains below Yosemite on the outskirts of the town of Concord. Sutter is a big animal vet, spending a majority of his time on the road to other farms to inoculate new foals and calves, and to provide the general care of the animals.

The Barn is located farther down from the house. It is very large and the traditional red. Inside it has many nice horse stalls, his office, a surgical room, and exam rooms. He treats Othersider's who are in need of emergency care. He sets a lot of broken bones and performs various stiches. In town the Othersider's go to Pillar who is a nurse and the local Doctor for more immediate and serious injuries.

He cares about people and animals alike. He is sarcastic by nature but genuninly wants the best for those around him. He will do anything he can to help those that are weak and need his help. When he was Alpha Concord ran smoothly. He is remembered well. It was his choice to step aside.


Sutter's words.


"Who might you be?" The deep voice came from the shorter of the two. He had dark hair and yellow eyes. His demeanor said gentle but his body screamed deadly. His muscles were bulky and cut sharp on his stocky frame.
"Uhh...." I gurgled before choking. "My name is...Lo." I sputtered.
Recognition crossed his features. "Duncan's Lo." He said.
I was getting really sick of being called that.

I slid away from Sutter, and placed my hands on the counter to lift myself up. He ran a hand across his face and glanced down my bare legs.
"No wonder they're fighting." He said.

His chair squeaked as he shifted. "I asked him about the earth bound spirits, the ones that rot instead of shine. He didn't see tem around here much so he didn't know anything about them. I told him bout the ones in 'Bama'. He didn't know how to get rid of them, and the more people I asked the more I wanted to know. I spent hours going through old books Gideon had left behind. While Duncan was busy babysitting Fin, I researched earth bound spirits and The Wild Hunt."

"In some way or another we are all connected to the Hunt, to the Otherside, like a great circle."


Sutter laughed. "You were just being honest. Maybe needed is the wrong word. Wanted. I want to be wanted. I want to be someone's air. I want to feel like my presence makes their life better. Just by simply existing."
"See you think I mean all of that in a bad way, but I understand. You need that wall there because it doesn't keep them out, it keeps you in. It protects from them ever hurting you, because sweetheart, if there is one thing I know for sure about you. You've been hurt, and bad."
"No truly. I am. You have Lyle and that's great, it's wonderful...but I know what it's like to have parents that don't give a shit about you. The good doesn't erase the bad. It makes it tolerable, but it never takes it away."
Sutter's smile fell. "I'm serious. You little girl are what my Nan says is trouble. You like to play with fire. You like all the bright shiny colors that come along with it. I am old, and too smart to play with either the trouble or the fire. So, I will keep my hands to myself for the most part. Mornings and drinking too much will not be included in those statements. Both are outside of my control."
"Nan says you should never turn down an invitation to dinner or a fight."
I smiled. "Why the fight?"
Sutter grinned. "You gotta eat, and you don't need more chicken."
"You know what Nan says about tears?"
I was afraid to ask.
"They're just extra seasoning."
"You'll get over it. Nan says that you should do one thing every day that scares you."

"We can leave you know. Nan says the worlds hard enough without torturing yourself."
Aunt Nan
Another new character in The Otherside is Sutter's Aunt Nan. Not only is she full of great words of wisdom and comic relief, but her part in the story is one of my favorites. She is a salt of the earth no-nonsense elder, which is something that has been missing from the series. Lyle while involved, is not a part of the Otherside world. He is only human. Nan is the voice of reason in the middle of a bloody world full of monsters.
  1. Name: Nannette
  2. Age: 64
  3. Hair: Medium length Grey
  4. Eyes: Brown
  5. Build: Proud, broad shouldered, tough,
  6. Height: 5'1
  7. Personality: Bold, strong, virtuous, no-nonsense, full of sayings
  8. Likes: Strength, honor, vengeance
  9. Dislikes: Evil, murder, hate
10. Music: Old Rock
11. Movies: Old Musicals
12. Actress whom my character resembles:
13. Clothes: Jeans nice blouses, long skirts, dresses, always apron
14. Job: Helps with Sutter's Veterinary Clinic
15. Song: "Like A Rolling Stone"-Bob Dylan


Friday, March 21, 2014

Blocking myself

I remember years ago when Sex in the City was still on air, and not in the reruns category. I remember this haunting episode in which Samantha's character (played by Kim Cattrall) ran out of orgasms. For any woman this is a very scary idea. To actually run out of what was once easy, or if not easy at least necessary for happiness in life.

You might wonder where in the hell I'm going with this whole line of thought, but I'm getting there, (this is where I insert snarky comment: that's what she said)...the point...yes that everything has a limit. We may not know how many breaths we get, or days, hours or minutes. We may not know how many orgasms we have until that part of our body just stops working. Who the fuck knows.

We stare in the mirror at our graying hair and wrinkled faces and the clock ticks on. We watch the skin on our hands grow clearer and spotted and the clock ticks on...tick...tock...tick...tock. Its moving along even as we are unaware of it. So my point is, what if we only have so many words in us. So many words we can think, say, type, share, only so many before the damn walls up and we have no more.

What if we only have so much creative juice to use towards our projects, be them book, home, painting or poetry.

These what ifs...keep me up at night. I worry over them more than a person should. Like peeking behind the curtain, or opening a present early, we don't know, and we shouldn't know.

But as I use my creativity on my home and countless other projects that don't include writing I can't help wondering if I'm squandering what ideas could be used for writing on other things. Am I using up that lovely creative juice on the wrong thing? Is there a right one?

I'll undoubtedly harass myself with this thought before I reach a conclusion, and I'll I blocking myself with my own crazy thought process, am I killing my creativity just by pondering its limitations? Am I?

We all play the part of sabotage...

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Life is Good!

Every once in a while I have one of those days where everything goes as planned. I wake up and I don't hate the idea of moving. I drink a cup of coffee, look at the sky. Whatever it is something just makes everything align in this beautiful way.

I'm so glad for days like today. It makes me believe in what hard work and real effort can give you. Lately I've been working on my house. Little projects here and there, that I always mean to do, and never finish. Thing's I've pinned, idea's I've had. Not unlike all the story ideas I get and never have time to write down. For once, I put everything aside and decided that yes, I was going to work on my house.

One project turned into two, and then three. Three morphed into five, and then seven, nine. You get the picture. I went from painting a dough table, to buying five pieces of furniture I painted an distressed. An entry way remodel, then the hallway, the stairway, the backyard, the front yard, and now I'm soon be starting on my kitchen. That doesn't include little things like putting together the new built ins for the entry way or painting a mirror. It doesn't include making my own cupcake stands, or finally hanging the curtains in the master bedroom. My project schedule was like a damn gremlin that got wet, it freaking blew up.

I'm not unhappy about these events, quite the contrary my home has never been so wonderful. I feel super accomplished as well. And writing, well, sometimes you just need to take some time off. For my readers out there, I apologize, I needed to live a little life before I could write about it. Now I'll finish Lilith in-between painting my kitchen cabinets and hopefully by the end of this year I'll have countless projects, and a couple of books under my belt.

Life is good, its even better when you live in it the way you are supposed to!

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Life... least it does sometimes. I'm blessed enough with my husband, sons, family and friends to not take the good things, or even the bad for granted. Life happens, even when we aren't ready for it. It just moves on forward without really caring whether we are ready for the next steps or not.

God doesn't give us anything on our time frame, he gives it to us on his. The universe trucks on by, regardless of us and our plans.

My dad is fading. Faster and faster everyday. I see pieces of him disappear so quickly I can barely stand to look at him. He is a shell of the man who raised me.

I'm praying that the loss of my grandma will help me through this hard time to come. I'm praying that my father never knows his behavior or feels ashamed or lost. I'm praying that God takes him sooner rather than later because living a life empty isn't really a life at all. There is pain to come that I don't want to even think about. When he forgets me, when he looks in my eyes and there is no spark of mischief or laughter in his own.

I want to scream at God and ask him why?  Why must his children suffer so at the end of their life. Why can't they hold onto dignity, and why, oh why did my father have to be struck down with this horrible disease so early.

He's a walking miracle. He was a premie baby born at a time when premies rarely made it. He had a heart condition that could have taken his life at anytime during his childhood. A cancer that so ravaged his body he wasn't even supposed to see my younger brother born. And through all the odds, and suffering, and broken legs he has made it to this day, only to suffer all the more. My father has Vascular Dementia and Alzheimer's, and a part of me really wants to hate God.

Life sucks sometimes, but then I'm sure everyone out there knows it....even God.


Saturday, January 4, 2014

Shoveling Shit

Every point in life is important for different reasons. When it's your children you document everything. Baby's first tooth, baby's first step, walking, laughing, and words. Everything is written down and photographed so that you never forget, so that you'll always remember.

I have compared my books to children many times. They are important to me, I have poured my soul into them not unlike I poured my blood and nourishment into my children. It is the closest metaphor I have to compare. Writing a book will challenge you, drain you, and ultimately make you beg for mercy. Some days are better than others, but like those first few steps you document the big ones.

The first finished novel. The first book sold. The first good review, and the first bad one. Book blogs, and giveaways. I remember them all. The first is always more exciting than the second. You stumble you make mistakes. You try again. I am at a new point in my writing life. I am ready to take that next step.

I have been writing query letters, and let me just say for the record, that it is terrifying.

The idea of trying to sum up my story in a few paragraphs feels impossible. And like the book blurbs it feels fake, cheesy, and ridiculous. The point of a book is to tell a large story. Something that can't be explained in a few chapters or even pages. How do I sum it down to just a page?

I beat my head against the desk and hope that what Stephen King said about writing is true. Sometimes you're doing good work when it feels like all you're managing to do is shovel shit from a sitting position.

I'll take his word for it. He should know after all. So I'll get back to my WIP's and my queries and hope the shoveling of shit finds some gold buried under all the manure.

Here's some music inspiration!!

Nick Mulvey-Fever to the form

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Sprite Bottle:1 , Ashley :0

Like an idiot I decided to open a sprite bottle with a knife. It doesn't take a genius to realize that this was a bad the moment I wasn't exactly thinking clearly. It was one of those times where you see yourself doing something utterly stupid and yet, you are incapable of stopping your ridiculous actions. You are on the outside looking in. Cringing as the knife slips off the plastic.

Needless to say I cut myself....badly. And as my blood flew across the room and onto my freshly made ham sandwich I knew, that I Ashley, am indeed a moron.

The sprite bottle won this round. I could blame it on the cold, and the ninja grip that my honey used to tighten the little fucker, but the truth is I was just stupid.

Note to readers: do not try to open a bottle with a knife, it will not work, and you will in fact cut yourself.

Saturday, December 7, 2013


Yes, that is a word. Well in my dictionary anyways. Along with fugly, fubar, ri-donk-ulous, and many other ridiculous words. I use dork-tastic to describe myself. Recently, I have realized that I am terrible at first impressions, or adult conversations in general. I wonder how in the world I ever survived high-school. Back then I was a little bit better at faking it. It's not that I am shy or unconfident. I am just really bad at first impressions.

I don't know what to say, and what I do say comes out in a strange jumble of crazy. Afterwards, I run the words I've said through my mind and cringe. Why can't conversations be like writing. Where in the hell is the social backspace?

So this revelation makes me realize that things like book-signings, and tours in general are a very bad idea for me. I've had a couple local stores offer to carry my books or have a signing and I always decline. I want to be successful but the actual process of meeting my fans scares the ever living crap out of me.

I am a hermit.

I am way to okay with my hermitness. <---pretty sure that's another made up word.

So how does one survive this vial thing called being social? I wish I knew. When I was younger it was a whole lot easier. Now a majority of my days are filled with arguments with five year olds, reading, and falling into my writing. None of which are all that great for conversations with actual people.

In conclusion I just needed a little venting space. It's better to write it here than say it out loud anyways. At least here I have the backspace button.

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