Sunday, April 3, 2016

Death, Life, and the in between Shadow


Writers have to write, right? No matter the circumstance, writing just makes me feel better. I can’t move on, get closure, any of those crazy terms that mean you hurt so bad, but you’re supposed to let it all go. I can’t let it all go unless I write it down. Otherwise, my brain will be in an endless loop of drafts and rewrites. 

The pain would forever be branded on my soul.

Life, death, grief. All those that you meet in your life, you meet those that shape you. Mold you. You know you're better for knowing them. And when you lose them, even if the day came where you didn’t talk to them all the time, when you lose them it’s like a bomb’s gone off.

Boom. His name was Jock. 

Just typing his name stirs up a lot of powerful emotions for me. Most of which are raw, personal and deeply emotional, but that’s what we’re here for.

More than a boss. More than a friend. He was my leader. Someone who could advise me and I felt safe knowing that whatever he told me, was truth.

He was a powerhouse. Someone who could move mountains. He inspired everyone wherever you went. With the twinkle in his eye and his mad cackling laugh, Jock was all fun. He corralled people and together those people thought they could change the world.

Maybe we did, for a little while. A small start-up decoding VINs and printing dealership window stickers, I knew from my very first day I was part of something special. Magic. We all wanted to be there and were so proud of our work. Working 80 hours a week wasn’t a chore.

It was a privilege. We weren’t just co-workers we were family.

Family.

And we’ve lost our patriarch, no matter how long it’s been since we’ve all been together. Death isn’t quiet. It’s not a ship sailing into the night. It’s violent. Like a tornado ripping someone from your life and the world, that’ll never be the same. A darkened silhouette where they used to be. A ghost of a thought and whisper when you’re all drawn together, but know someone is missing. Someone that will be gone forever.

Lost. Raw. Forever. How do you grapple with forever?

Friendship and loyalty it was pretty much everything. Back when we had just started working For DataOne, Michael and I had to move very quickly. Jock said to us, “whatever you need, let me know. You guys are family now.”

He had known me about 4 weeks at that point. 4 weeks. He was a generous spirit someone who dreamed big, lived big. Went after what he wanted. And when it didn't work, he looked for the next thing that did.

As a leader, a boss, you couldn’t have asked for a better champion. Loyal to a fault, he always believed in you and he always had your back. As far as CEOs went, he made mistakes, but it didn’t matter.

His loyalty inspired loyalty. He asked you to do something that was unreasonable in a time frame that was way too short. There was no way you could do it, but you said yes. You want 60? I’ll give you 80. Anything really just not to let you down because he never let you down.

Life took him far and wide. Missionary work was important to him and like a nomad, you couldn’t really pin him down. But when he stopped by my house after some whirlwind trip, we exchanged stories. We laughed like we had just seen him yesterday. The stories were crazy and the hugs were heartfelt. Until the next time, some months (or maybe a year) later, when it’d happen again.


Until next time, Jock. 

Friday, January 15, 2016

Supernatural: New Season, Rejuvenation.


Supernatural, oh how do I love thee? Dean and his bad attitude, that car—heavens help me, that car—and Sam. Poor, sweet, idealistic Sam. These are great characters, that’s not to say that every episode is great. Far from it, but the interactions between the brothers is gut wrenching. Their reactions and love is unwavering.

Codependency at its best—or worse, depending on your point of view.

But somewhere along the way, it seemed to lose it’s luster. Season 8 maybe? Season 9? It was a little less…interesting. The brothers seemed to be growing through the motions more. I still laughed at the funny moments, but I was less invested.

Until this season.  Season 11 is where it’s at. The show seems invigorated. The actors, the vibe, it’s all back and in fine form. Like a competing athlete and the energy in the first two episodes of season 11 are intense. It feels like it’s in a prime, which is crazy to say for a show that’s been on for 11 years.


The friendship between the lead actors, I think carries over and in a lot of ways carries the show. The new villain this year, the Darkness—okay, not a great name, but I even used that one once—is compelling. I can’t wait to see where they go with it.

My only complaint for the show is the direction of Crowley—what direction? He seems to be reactionary to his mom mostly, and that’s not my favorite subplot at all time. Even if the actress does a fine portrayal. And Cass.

Love Cass, but when was the last time we saw him? When was the last season he did something really meaningful. I’m ready for more Cass.

 Are you caught up with Supernatural? What’s your favorite moments of the new season?

Jill Cooper is the author of the series BLOOD LUST, coming out March 29th, 2016. Love the Winchester Brothers? Then you’re going to love the Blood Sisters. Full of sass, a zest for killing demons, and a knack for saving each other, they’re going to take the world by storm. One demon at a time. http://amzn.to/1NVGRWo

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

Paranormal Love Wednesday

Welcome to the Paranormal Love Wednesday Blog hop!

My new series, BLOOD LUST, is coming out in March. It's a serious paranormal thriller with heaps of romance. Jessica, a demon hunter with a sassy attitude, will do anything to save her sister, Amanda, from the demon horde on their tail.

To save their lives, she's going to have to hook up with bad boy Duncan Jasper and his gang of rag-tag bikers. Their past complicates more things than just killing demons. It complicates their lives.

Check the excerpt out below and let me know what you think! (It's from the unedited version)

EXCERPT:

Jessica thought he was in trouble. Searched for him, but there hadn’t been trouble, had there? Duncan had just left her. Walked away like so many others.
The pain took shape in the center of her chest and threatened to tear her heart a sunder. So when Duncan’s tongue entered her mouth and they did that familiar dance somewhere between love and lust, Jessica pushed him up against the counter, her hands firmly on his hips.
And then she bit his tongue.
“Ugh!” Duncan screamed and pushed her away, his hand firmly over his mouth. “Jessica Blood!” A trail of blood trickled out his hand as he rushed to turn on the kitchen sink and grabbed paper towels from the counter.

“Let’s get through this and go our separate ways. We were happier that way, right?” Jessica stomped up the stairs and didn’t look back. Didn’t want to see if there would be relief in his eyes or a haunting sadness.

Thanks for stopping by! Don't forget to check in with the HOP to see who is next!

New Year Blog Hop. Chance to win!

Time for my New Years Blog Hop, thanks for stopping by! For a chance to win an e-copy of 15 Minutes and Plugged, read the excerpt below and answer the following question.

Ready?

QUESTION:

Lara Crane goes back in time to save her mother from being mugged and murdered. Once she goes back in time, where does she meet her mother?

Thanks for playing! Please hop on over next to: Betty Bolte for another chance to win!

Good Luck!


I open my eyes. I’m standing in the yellow halls of a cheerful school decorated with construction paper artwork. The hall waves in front of my vision as though I’m lost beneath the ocean, and my legs tremble. I slide my feet forward, so I can lean against a locker for support.
I have no memory of what I did before this. I rub my temples. I’m missing something, and my head throbs. I flip through the papers I notice in my hand. It’s a pamphlet that says I have fifteen minutes to be in the past.
Time travel?
Flipping through the pages I see short-term memory loss is to be expected but will fade soon. I paid money to go back, but why into a school? Something about it is familiar, and I know the hall I’m standing in leads to a music room.
But I don’t know how I know any of this. I just do. As if memories were uploaded into my brain.
A photo falls from my papers and lands face up.
Her face. Her eyes. It’s like looking in the mirror.
I scoop the picture up and head down the hall. A piano chord strikes. The soft tone echoes toward me, and the digital watch on my wrist beeps. A rush of memories slam into my mind, knocking me off balance. I wobble on my feet as if the collision were physical. I retch, the vomit threatening to spill. Swallowing, it burns like racing lava. I check my watch. 
I only have thirteen minutes left.
I don’t bother to look through the doors to find five-year-old me. Instead, I race down the hall, feet gliding across the linoleum. My hood flaps behind me as my body crashes into the elementary school front doors. Blinding sunlight greets me, and I am flying down the hill. My arms pump, and I suck in deep breaths of air, like I learned in my time as a sprinter at Cambridge High.
Rounding the corner onto Mass Avenue, I see Tower Records off in the distance.
Beep.
I now have ten minutes to run eight blocks in time to save Mom. If I don’t make it, if I fail, I won’t get another shot.
My chest aches, and in my mind, I see Mom. I’ve seen her in pictures, but my memories of her are pretty much gone. I want to remember her tucking me into bed and cooking me dinners. Now I am alone and have microwaved bowls of macaroni and cheese. Maybe it wasn’t Dad’s fault. Maybe he did his best, but I want more.
I want a mom.
My legs burn, and my lungs beg me to stop, but I keep going. I push harder and edge my body on until I’m desperate to collapse. A woman steps out from a store. I take a hard right to avoid her, clipping my arm on a brick wall. I groan and pause to bend over with my hands braced on my legs. I take a gulping breath of pain that my lungs reject. The woman comes up behind me and puts her hand on my shoulder.
Shrugging her off, I sprint away.
Eight minutes.
I round the corner toward Tower Records with anxiety tight in my chest.
This is where it happens. This is where Mom’s body will be found.
My run slows to a trot as I stop beside the giant music store. I peer up at the towering skyscraper as I round the back, down an alley. Quiet shadows loom around the dumpster. A breeze sweeps by and blows a trash bag open. I catch the stench of decomposing meat, churning my stomach. My head pounds. I groan and grab my temples. Behind me I hear a woman’s voice.
“Are you okay?”
Her voice rings a bell only in my deepest dreams. My movements slow as I turn and stare into my mother’s face. Her eyes are blue like mine, and her face is framed with curls. The stillness of the sight shocks me. I knew I would see her if I was successful, but I wasn’t ready for how my heart would ache or how badly I’d want to hug her.
She has a book in one hand and a cell phone in another. The phone is blinking, suggesting she’s been on a call and maybe whoever is on the other end might still be listening. But Mom doesn’t seem to care; her eyes are fixed on me.
“I’m fine.” Despite my dry mouth, my voice sounds normal, but I am anything but. “Only a headache.”
Mom smiles, and her warmth spreads to me. “Well it’s no wonder, being back here. Come out on the street where the air is fresh. We’ll get you a bottle of water.”
I follow her on autopilot and watch her retrieve a bottle of water from her brown leather messenger bag. Around us, pedestrians walk by. Any one of them could be her killer, but maybe by being here I’ve saved her. Maybe I stopped her from going too far into the alley.
I sip the water offered to me, and as she takes it back, Mom asks, “What did you say your name was?”
“Lara,” I answer before I can stop. I squeeze my eyes shut. My heart skips a beat with regret.
“That’s funny,” she laughs. “That’s my daughter’s name.” Her eyes aren’t suspicious. Her face is only kind.
My wrist watch beeps. I’m down to two minutes.
Mom turns towards the music store, and I follow. I see a man in the alley out of the corner of my eye.
“Mom!”
Mouth agape, her head whips toward me. “What did you call me?”
There’s no time to answer.
A gun goes off.
I throttle her back, and she crumbles to the pavement. I take her place and feel a pinch in my side. My hand covers it instantly, and my legs wobble like jelly. I crash to the pavement, and my knees crunch under the impact. I grimace with my hand over the wound.
For a moment, my eyes lock with the shooter. He has dark hair and brown eyes. His brow furrows, and his lip snarls. Whoever he is, in that brief moment I tremble in fear. Then he takes off running. Around me people scream and run for cover. The ones that don’t are by my side. Someone calls for help.
My breath echoes in my ear. Mom is there, taking me by the shoulder. Her lips are moving, but I hear nothing. There are tears in her eyes and mine, too. I fall forward, my head cushioned by her lap. Unable to blink, I can only stare ahead at a red fire hydrant on the sidewalk. Everything grows dim, and my breath rumbles.
I swear I see a shadow leaping over my body, but when I turn my head, no one is there. I don’t understand. There was no mugging, so why was I shot? Mom was supposed to be mugged.
Beep.
Time’s up. Everything goes dark as when a curtain closes on a stage, but I don’t think it’s from time travel.
I think I’m dead.