The Illusion of Writer's Block and Learning to Utilize Your Runway

"Writer's Block." Those two words can strike fear into almost any wordsmith. There's nothing more terrifying than a well that has run dry, when you stare at a blank screen and your muse is nowhere in sight. Every writer will face it in their lifetime, but you needn't consider it the scary boogie man hiding in your closet.

In fact, you needn't fear it at all.

Here's the good thing about a writer's block. It isn't a stop sign. It isn't a wall. It's a "block," one that often can impede your progress when you're on the wrong path. That means it's small and manageable, and often productive, in the grand scheme of things. Inconvenient, maybe, but in the end it's simply an obstruction in your path that you have to figure out a way around, usually to make your story *stronger* as you develop your writing skill.

Picture yourself on a road, toodling along, listening to the radio, making excellent time on the way to wherever you are going. Let's pretend that you're on the first day of a long vacation, and you have plenty of time to spare. If you're on this highway and you hit an obstruction in your path, like - say - a big beam prohibiting passage, you might have the luxury of sitting in your car and chatting with your passengers, waiting for someone else to come along and remove the blockage so that you can resume your journey, usually at the convenience (mercy) of someone else.

If you're a truck driver who has a deadline to meet, whose money depends on how quickly you can get from Point A to Point B, you don't have the luxury to wait around. It's up to you to find/create a workaround. You'll take the nearest exit. You'll find a detour around your original, planned path, to get to where you need to go by the time you're scheduled to be there. And as someone who is trained to look several car lengths ahead to plan around these kinds of inevitable delays, you're prepared at all times to economize your time so you can make these changes accordingly, with as little inconvenience as you can manage.

Working writers are like truck drivers. They have deadlines to meet. They don't have time to wait for an elusive muse to show up on the scene and remove the blockage. They have to finagle their way around these obstacles. It's you against Writer's Block, and you have to win if you want to finish your project. The when and how is ultimately up to you.

Uncomfortable Truth Ahead: The quickest way to fight your way around Writer's Block is to WRITE your way out of it.

Consider this your runway. Every writer in the world wants to soar through the air, flying gracefully and forcefully through space, trailing behind them each perfect word that appears flawlessly and effortlessly after the other. Truth is that amounts for maybe 25-30% of your writing experience. Most of the time you're on the ground, waiting for clearance, preparing your vessel for the journey ahead and planning for any contingency. That means how effective your creative flight is and how long it lasts usually depends on two things. One, how generous your muse happens to be and two, how prepared you are for the journey.

I can't help you with your muse, she's going to be as temperamental as she's going to be. I can, however, give you some tips in planning, which is generally under your control. I've written both by the seat of my pants, with no clear direction of where I wanted to go between the first page and the last scene, as well as with an outline. Without question, I've always, always, had better luck fending off Writer's Block with an outline. It's a road map of where you need to go, and you usually figure out a lot of the pitfalls when you plan out your story ahead of time.

Some writers feel this inhibits creativity, but that's not the case. Your characters will jump off the page and throw your outline into the wood chipper regularly and without a hint of apology. The point is having an objective every single time you sit down to write. I use chapter-by-chapter outlines. I write it before I write anything else. (Some writers like to do a lot of prep work ahead of time, including character analyses, but we'll get to that in a minute.) In one sitting I go through the story in my head, like I'm watching a movie. I need to know, step by step, where I'm going. I know what beats I have to hit and where, so I plan them accordingly, building the story with pretty basic notes of what I want to accomplish in each scene. Here's an example from my latest book, BACK FOR SECONDS.

***

Chapter One:
Begin with scene leaving the family home, meet Russell, make it tense, zero respect, lots of bitterness. Kids are devastated, particularly Kari. Joely and her children return home from to her mother’s house. Get to meet Lillian and Faye right in the restaurant, along with Xander Davy. He prompts a smile from Kari. That night he leaves with one of the customers from the restaurant, Joely’s mom explains that he likes the ladies and the ladies like him. It immediately puts her off. Sweet scene with youngest daughter – strained goodnights with older kids.

Chapter Two:
Joely is ready to go back to work. Problem: she’s been a stay-at-home mom for twelve years, and keeps running into obstacles. She is no longer an attractive candidate for her chosen field in management, and needs a certain income to support her family. That Xander is a bit of a showoff with his money only puts her off even more. It’s clear she doesn’t like him. It’s clear that’s not what he’s used to. Kari, however, lights up at the restaurant where they eat nightly. Introduce Mason.

Chapter Three:
Several rejections later and Joely ends up baking her feelings. Her mother is overjoyed with her product, saying that she should do that for the restaurant. She tells her mother no, she’d rather make it on her own. It’s bad enough they have to stay in their house. The sooner she gets a job, the sooner she gets her freedom. Her grandmother ends up cooking with her at home. She’s a feisty gal full of advice and good humor, especially when it comes to her strained relationship with her daughter.

Chapter Four:
Joely drops the kids off with their father, who makes it a point to wave his new relationship (his former affair) under her nose. Joely decides to head to a bar with her BFF Novanna, who has nothing good to say about Russell, even though their husbands share a practice. Cheating is a deal breaker. Period. She convinces Joely to scope out a new man, a hot meaningless affair to remind her what it is to be her own woman. She ends up running into Xander. After a disastrous dance where their personalities clash, she retreats back to the house, where she bakes goodies, getting creative with the decorating.

***

If you've read BACK FOR SECONDS, then you can see where the story ventured off on its own, following its own unique flow in the narrative. The outline that plants my butt in the chair is not carved in stone, there's plenty of wiggle room to venture outside the lines where I need to. You find your own groove as you delve further into the story. An outline is more of a guideline where you're going, so that you can *keep* going. So I throw random, vague scene ideas in the mix I think will further the story I want to tell, but leave enough room there to let the muse do her thing.

She's more compliant than you'd think.

Once that initial plan is in place, it gives me a writing schedule (usually at least one chapter, maybe two, per day,) which means I can finish a first draft in a month or less. If I get stuck, say, like when my characters jump ship from the outline and get caught up doing their own thing, then I delve deeper into their motivation, to keep the flow of action as organic as possible. It has to build upon itself, one thing upon the other. Here's where you can refer to your character analyses, if you've written them, or write them in addition to the outline, whenever you need an extra push to get past that dreaded blinking cursor. You can also do more research. If your characters live in Los Angeles, research Los Angeles and use that in your story. Find a place, give them an activity, throw them into a scene and just see what they do. If they're a doctor, research a case that might pertain to their occupation and fit it into the story. If they're famous or rich, take the afternoon and get balls deep in a Biography hole on TV, to figure out what kinds of situations they've found themselves in and knock your characters around accordingly. Find a way to "show" what you need to say, incorporating your central theme or message in deeper layers.

(Some writers even prefer a writing project aside from the one they're working on, such as a blog post, etc., just to get the juices flowing. Ahem.)

The trick is to find *something* to write about, even if you end up scrapping it later.

See, that's the biggest lie that Writer's Block whispers in your ear. Most of us hit a standstill when we feel that what we're writing doesn't match what we want to say. The words are all wrong, or simply don't come at all. But even a less stellar word is one more towards your destination. There are a lot of things you can fix in the rewrite process. (We'll go over that in a future blog.)

One of the best pieces of advice I've ever gotten was, "Don't get it right. Get it written."

Writers' Block, Shmiter's Block, that's your job. Get it written. So plan ahead. Research, research, research. Write your way out of it.

Now get cracking.

Giveaways, Excerpts and New Releases - Oh My!

It's nearly May 1, y'all... you know what that means!

Okay, okay. My love for Tony Stark aside... ahem...

It is also the day you all finally get to meet Xander!

I'm SUPER excited, you guys. This is one Book Boyfriend who even took *me* by surprise. I knew what I wanted him to be when I sat down to write the book. Well, honestly the story nipped at my heels long before I actually sat down to write it. It haunted me, the way all my favorite story ideas do. Xander would come to me in a flash, whispering things in my ear, that had me as discombobulated as he left our heroine, Joely. I guess you could say he seduced me first.

But nothing... nothing could have prepared me for the ride he took me on once I started writing. This book is racier than anything I have ever done. Two of my most diehard fans are my mother-in-law and my grandmother-in-law, who read everything I write even if they have to skip certain passages. Let me put it to you this way... I'm highly tempted to print a special censored version of this story just for them, because Xander is a naughty, naughty boy.

Exhibit A:

***
When she returned to the house, she met a delivery driver at the door, who carried a large white box. “Miss Morgan?” he asked.

She fought the urge to correct him and say, “Mrs. Morgan,” considering, like Xander and Novanna had said, that wasn’t who she was anymore. “Yes,” she said as she approached.

“Package for you,” he said as he handed it off.

She fished a few dollars from her purse to tip the young man before carrying the large parcel into the house and up the stairs. She didn’t stop until she reached the bedroom, where she deposited the box onto her bed. Before she could rip it open, her phone rang.

It was Xander.

“Good morning,” he crooned into her ear.

“I assume you had something to do with this,” she said as she sat on the bed next to her gift.

“Guilty as charged,” he admitted happily. “Open it.”

She put him on speakerphone before she lifted the top of the box away and moved the tissue aside to reveal a silky black and lace dress. “Oh, Xander,” she murmured as she withdrew it, revealing a flowing skirt, snug bodice with a sweetheart neckline that dipped low in front. The wide straps were made of lace and the style was much like the other 50s-inspired clothing he’d selected for her. He clearly preferred retro glamour. “It’s lovely.”

“I’m glad you like it. I can’t wait until tonight so I can see you in it.” She shivered in spite of herself. “There’s just one thing,” he murmured.

“What’s that?”

“You’re not allowed to wear any underwear underneath it,” he said in a voice so low it nearly made Joely groan out loud.

“Allowed?” she echoed.

“That’s right. No panties. No bra. Just you. When I hold you close to me tonight at The Ranch, I want to know that I’m just a fine bit of silk away from fucking you right there on that dance floor. And I want everyone else to know it, too.”

“Xander,” she started, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“Ah, ah,” he said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. “I’m the one in charge, remember? And you will be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

She could barely breathe. “Okay.”

“That’s not all,” he said. “I want you to drop off the kids wearing this dress.”

Her heart nearly stopped. “Why?”

“I want him to see what he threw away.”

She made a face he couldn’t see. “He won’t care,” she said.

“Yes, he will,” Xander promised. “Because somewhere deep down he’ll know that this weekend you belong to someone new.” ***

I said it before and I'll say it again...

You can pre-order BACK FOR SECONDS right now, and it'll be available for you to read the second you leave the theater for that midnight showing of AVENGERS 2: The Age of Mancandy.

Ahem... I mean Ultron.

Speaking of Mancandy... how many of you have met Snake from CHASING THUNDER?

You can read all about my badass biker with a heart of gold (and quick wit) RIGHT NOW! My editor fell in love with him, so I think you definitely will too. Not only can you pick up your copy of CHASING THUNDER at Amazon, B&N, iTunes, and Kobo - where it is currently ranked 400 in International Mysteries/Suspense, btw - but we are hours away from the close of the Goodreads Giveaway for one of two signed copies of the paperback!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Chasing Thunder

by Ginger Voight

Giveaway ends April 30, 2015.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to Win

If you miss that giveaway, I've started another one for one of two signed copies of BACK FOR SECONDS, which ends in two weeks!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Back for Seconds

by Ginger Voight

Giveaway ends May 15, 2015.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to Win

So that's all the news that is fit to print for this last day of April, 2015! Let's all roar into May like a lion.

xoxo
Gin

BACK FOR SECONDS: Amazon, B&N, iTunes, Kobo, Smashwords

CHASING THUNDER: Amazon, B&N, iTunes, Kobo

Only ten more days until you meet Xander. (Squee!)

Mark your calendars, ladies and gents. A new book boyfriend is preparing himself for his international debut on May 1. His name is Xander Davy. He's from England, but no moss grows under this rolling stone. He's only 26, but thanks to his touch of wanderlust he's lived in some of the most fascinating cities in the world: London, New York, San Francisco...

So how did this cultured, sophisticated gent land in Abilene, Texas, of all places?

Let's just say that not all cowboys were born in the Wild West. Xander Davy brings that spirit with him, in super-sized helpings that leave you hungering for more.

Sure, the ladies love him. He's handsome. He's charming. He's got that accent. And he's way intense. He takes what he wants but like a truly self-possessed alpha, he doesn't have to rob anyone else of anything to do it. There's a lot to like, as our emotionally vulnerable heroine, Joely Morgan, quickly learns.

Needless to say he even left me breathless a time or two, the lil' dickens.

So mark your calendars and get your copy pre-ordered ASAP, because I can't *wait* to see what y'all have to say about Xander.

Here's a taste...

***

Joely turned to Xander. “What’s all that about?” she wanted to know.

“What’s what about?” he asked as he popped another huge bite into his mouth. His dark eyes watched her closely.

“Playing buddy-buddy with my kids,” she replied as she took his plate and headed back toward the sink. The chair scraped against the tile as he stood and walked over to join her.

His mouth was still full when he said, “It’s called being nice.”

Her look was skeptical. “Look. They’re going through a difficult time right now."

He swallowed his last mouthful. His eyes kept hers captive as he ran his tongue around the corner of his mouth to capture any leftover frosting. “I know,” he finally said. “Your mother told me.”

Inwardly Joely groaned. That explained everything. “Great.”

He leaned against the counter. “It’s no big deal. Lillian thought maybe I could connect with Nash. He’s alone in a house full of women now. She thinks he could use a man to talk to.”

From where they stood nearly a foot apart, she could see his broad shoulders straining against the navy blue shirt he wore. His legs were long, crossed casually at the ankle, as he linked his hands and rested his elbow on the counter. Her nose filled with the scent of his cologne, a mixture of wood and spice. There was no doubt about it. He most definitely was a man. And the look in his eyes wouldn’t let her forget it. “I just,” she started but then found herself flustered and stammering. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here and I don’t want them to get attached to anything temporary. I appreciate the thought, but it’s not necessary.”

He towered over her 5’5-inch frame, studying her long brown hair and her deep brown eyes. The longer he stood without saying anything, the more nervous she got. When the tip of his thumb brushed the side of her mouth, she nearly jumped right out of her skin. Her doe eyes opened even wider as she watched him lick his thumb. “Missed a spot,” he murmured.

She was still sputtering behind him as he walked from the kitchen. *** Pre-order your copy of BACK FOR SECONDS, now on AMAZON, B&N, iTunes, and KOBO!

TOMORROW is the big day! The storm is almost here! #chasingthunder #mjiscoming

I was seventeen years old when I met my first husband, Daniel. Because I was so young, I did all the things young girls do when they're completely smitten with someone older and more complicated: I tried to mold myself into his perfect girl. I did what he liked to do, even if I didn't particularly want to do it. I watched what he liked to watch, even if I didn't particularly like it. I grew up in a house devoid of testosterone from the age of 11. Guy flicks, namely action movies, war movies and westerns, all fell off my list from a very early age. Dan, a rough and tough guy chock full of testosterone, brought 'em all back. And really, they weren't all bad. I developed a healthy respect for martial arts movies in particular. But, as a feminist from an early age, nothing pissed me off more than those female characters who did nothing more than "prop" the action for their male co-stars. The most egregious of these offenders were typically bare-assed naked and screaming while all the fists flailed around them, the very definition of eye candy.

It became crystal clear to me after sampling several popular movies in these genres that most "tough" women, the bad-ass women, the ones that didn't need men to save them, were colored with a different color pen. Virtuous girls, the girls that these hot macho men couldn't resist, always defaulted to the victim who needed saving because they were too "good" to save themselves. (Queen of these useless babes was Kelly Lynch's character in Road House. ICK... and no.)

Granted, these were bubblegum movies that didn't necessarily need to have a point. They were written by men for men, defaulting time and again to the patriarchal socialization we all share, whether we like it or not.

It was, and still is, a sticking point for me.

This imbalance influenced me so strongly that it bled into my first full-length novel, which I began in 1989. Many of you already know how the idea came to me. I was 19 years old and living out of my car in Los Angeles. "Welcome to the Jungle" came on the radio and I began to see it in terms of a story. Of course there would be an innocent teenager, and of course she would wind up on the mean streets of Hollywood. And of course, a noble biker, a tough anti-hero, would ride to her rescue. (Another major Dan influence.)

And then it hit me...

Who said that biker had to be a man?

Thus, M.J. Bennett was born. In truth, she's the daughter Dan and I never had. She's fearless and tough as nails, like him. And she's devoted and loyal and refuses to back down from a fight... like me. M.J. knows who she is and what she can do, and she does it all without apology.

It's taken me 26 years to fully bring this complicated character to life. Things have changed a lot in the meantime. We now have some badass female characters everywhere we look, on TV and in the movies. Writers like Joss Whedon bravely embarked on this exciting new frontier as early as the 1990s, which paved the way for heroines like Katniss Everdeen. Tomorrow, at long last, M.J. joins the ranks of some badass lady characters who have changed the way we see women. I couldn't be prouder or love her any more.

Here's a sneak peek of what's to come, with the first confrontation between M.J. and Dominic Isbecky, the man she suspects is behind the brutal murders of underage sex workers.

Get your 1-Click fingers primed and ready. #mjisalmosthere!

***

They reached the door to his office and he shoved her inside. He locked the door, lowered the lights, and kicked on the sound system with the touch of a button. “Make yourself comfortable, Miss Bennett.”

He assumed his position behind his desk, so she walked to one of the chairs on the other side. She flopped down and kicked her boots up on his expensive ebony desk. He immediately scowled, which made her smile. “You wanted me here and I’m here. So what’s up, buttercup?”

“You’ve been interfering with my business, Miss Bennett. And I don’t take kindly to that.”

“I don’t take kindly to your business,” she told him bluntly.

He leaned across his desk. “Too bad there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it,” he said. “Slick operates as a legitimate business. According to the law, and a litany of lawmakers, I am above reproach.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Even the second floor?”

“The second floor is not part of Slick. It includes private residential quarters for a few close friends. And I am a man who takes care of his friends.”

“Unless they’re female and underage, right?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t make a practice of hanging out with underage girls. But I’m sure you can tell me all about it. How is your young friend from the alley?”

It was her turn to shrug. “Dunno. Got her on a bus and got her the hell out of here the very night I met her. Just like I’ve done for at least two other girls who’ve spent time within these hallowed walls.”

He chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s amusing that you think I don’t know.”

“I figured you knew,” she corrected. “Come on. A smart guy like you? You just never cared until now. Which makes me even more curious why you’d care about this last girl at all. She was on the streets for a day, so she couldn’t have been one of yours. Unless it was some initiation gone awry,” she added, scouring his face for any tell. He was stoic, and his smile never changed. M.J. stood from the chair and sauntered around his office, taking in the details of his décor. “So of course I have to ask myself what makes this girl different. Why is she suddenly so important?”

She stopped in front of his marble chessboard. Dominic watched as she studied the pieces thoughtfully. Finally she reached down and moved a piece before turning toward the window.

It took a minute or two, but finally Dominic slid from his chair and walked over to the chess board. He spotted her move almost immediately, as this particular game had been at a stalemate with his latest opponent. He grinned as he took the piece with ease. “It’s amazing what one day can do,” he commented. “Just one day in this jungle and that pristine young girl will be a tatted-out junkie giving blowjobs at chain restaurants near freeway on-ramps. Call me a romantic, but I thought I could help.”

“Help,” she repeated. “That’s a nice word for it. Do you have an upstairs room set aside for her, too?” His eyes glittered, and he let the comment slide. She glanced down at the chessboard. Within a minute or two, she made another move. Again, he took it with ease.

“But you were right about one thing,” she said. “A lot can happen in a day, an hour . . . or even a minute.” She quickly moved the knight into position. “It can even dethrone a king.” Her eyes met his. “Checkmate.”

There was a flash of irritation in his eyes and the barest hint of a scowl as he realized what she had done. She had set a trap that he had overlooked, simply because her original move had been so easily conquered. He scanned the pieces on the board to figure out how she had unlocked a previously unwinnable game so quickly. He crossed his arms and stared at her, trying to figure her out. Was this another game? Another trap?

If so, he had to sniff out her vulnerabilities. Where were her weaknesses? What mattered to M.J. Bennett?

She made her way to the door, and he crossed the two feet between them. “Impressive,” he said softly. “But no matter how clever you think you are, if you are hiding this girl here in Los Angeles, I will find her.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “We have unfinished business, and I am a stickler for loose ends. That means no matter where you send her, I can find her.”

Her eyes gave nothing away as she stared back at him. Finally he bent forward. “The same way I’ll always be able to find you.” He sniffed the air around her. “I’ve got your scent now, Miss Bennett. Believe me when I tell you that you don’t want me on this hunt. I won’t stop until I take it all.” His hand slid down the side of her face to grab her throat. The tighter his grip became, the bigger his smile grew. “Think about that the next time you put your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

She broke the hold easily, almost too easily. He laughed. “You entertain me, Miss Bennett. Such fire,” he murmured, touching the wild red curls that fell over her shoulders. “Now that I’ve met you, I might even consider a trade.”

“Bad move for your business,” she replied.

He stepped closer. “And why’s that?”

Her voice was smooth as silk. “Your clients can’t afford me.”

He trailed a finger along her arm and over her chest, just above the lace trim of her shirt. “And how much are you worth, M.J.?”

“I’m priceless, motherfucker,” she answered, her hand landing on the button on the side panel that controlled the door. It unlocked with an audible click.

He made no move to stop her as she left his office. But he followed her, and stood, arms crossed, at the end of the hallway and watched her depart, ensuring that the mysteries of his private rooms remained undetected by the meddlesome troublemaker. He didn’t go back into to his office until she had disappeared from sight.

***

Get CHASING THUNDER now from AMAZON, BARNES & NOBLE, iTUNES and KOBO.

To get into the mood, check out the CHASING THUNDER Playlist I created for YouTube.

CHASING THUNDER sneak preview and pre-order info! #mjiscoming #listenforthethunder

In eight days, a 26-year dream of mine is coming true when CHASING THUNDER releases from True North Publishing. I've been in love with these characters for more than half my life, which is about how long it took for me to tell their story as well as it deserved to be told. It is a true joy to bring them to you at last. Meet my feisty kids, M.J., Snake and Baby in this excerpt from Chapter 2: Thunderstruck.

***

Hollywood faded into the distance behind them as they raced along Sunset Boulevard. The mosaic of Los Angeles passed alongside, from West Hollywood to Beverly Hills. The bike didn’t stop until they reached Santa Monica, where the rider finally turned off the main boulevard to a smaller side street, easing up to a nondescript white building with a green neon sign that read The Snake Pit.

Her rescuer hadn’t bothered to say a word during the long retreat. She killed the motor and slid from the bike. As she turned to face her, Haley didn’t know whether to thank her or scream for help. Those green eyes pierced right through her. “Got a name?”

Haley thought about it a second. She instinctively knew that she had to bury her identity in order to protect it. “Baby,” she finally answered. It was what both Billy and Tammy had called her, and it seemed as good an alias as any.

“Of course,” the biker said, reaching for her jacket.

“What about you?” Baby asked.

“M.J.,” she replied. She looked the young girl aboard her bike up and down, then handed her the jacket. “Here. You may get cold in that tissue you’re wearing.”

Baby only hesitated a moment before she dismounted and shrugged into the oversized jacket, which wrapped around her like another, more modest dress. With a satisfied nod of her head, M.J. turned on her heel and headed into the dive bar without another word. Baby was quick to follow.

The heavy steel door slammed behind them. Classic rock blared from the sound system. The bar was filled with bikers of all shapes and sizes, and every single one of them turned to see who had entered. Baby found herself shrinking behind M.J.’s lean frame, intimidated by the crustier clientele. M.J., however, stalked purposefully toward the bar, where a tall bearded man was making drinks.

He was rugged and handsome, towering over six feet tall, with broad shoulders barely contained by the black T-shirt he wore. His thick brown hair curled by the nape of his neck, while a neatly trimmed beard trailed along his strong, square jawline. Though he was rough around the edges, his dark eyes were kind. They regarded the redhead with playful affection.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he said, smiling. He rounded the bar and took her up in a massive bear hug. “I oughta kick your ass for staying away so long,” he growled, holding her close.

“If you think you’re man enough,” she teased with a smile of her own.

He kept M.J. in the crook of his arm and turned his attention to Baby. “And who is your friend?”

“This is Baby,” she said. “Baby, this is Snake.”

Baby held out her hand and he shook it with power and authority. Despite his venomous moniker, for the first time in a long time, Baby actually felt safe. She offered him a small smile, which pleased him. He rounded the bar to pour her a soda. “Any friend of M.J.’s is a friend of mine,” he announced. “You hungry? I think we have just enough chili left for one more bowl.”

M.J. groaned. “I just got this girl out of Hollywood. I’m not sending her to the ER because of your chili.”

He held a hand to his chest. “I’m . . . I’m hurt.”

Baby couldn’t help but giggle. He was a charmer, there was no doubt about it. “I’ll risk it,” she said with a shy smile.

“See? She’s not afraid. Lori!” He hollered to the waitress across the room. “Set our friend up with a bowl of chili.” He leaned across the bar from Baby with a teasing gleam in his eye. “They’ll have to scrape most of it off the bottom of the pan with a chisel and a rock. Good stuff, though.”

Again Baby giggled. He gave her a wink and turned back to M.J. “So. What’s up?”

M.J. glanced down at Baby, who turned her attention back to her soda. With a wave of her finger, she led Snake away from the bar and into his office, closing the door behind them.

“Hollywood, huh?” he asked, perching on the edge of his cluttered desk. She shrugged in response, as if he should have known better than to ask. And of course he did. Molly Joanne Bennett had been patrolling Hollywood for nearly ten years, taking up the mantle left behind by her grandfather, Joe. She still wore his signet ring on the index finger of her left hand, and now she wore his bandana on her wrist and his dog tags around her neck as well. His mission had become her mission. It was her duty. It was her calling. All of that was status quo.

The only surprise was that she had brought one of her kids with her to the bar. That was new. “Surprised you didn’t leave her with Rose.”

“There was a slight complication,” M.J. replied, as if a dead gangbanger was as inconvenient as a misplaced set of keys. Snake, however, could easily read between the lines. “M.J.,” he groaned.

Her green eyes met his. “Can we crash with you? Just for a couple of days, while I figure out what to do with her.”

He sighed. He knew she wouldn’t ask if she had any other choice. And she never asked for help unless it was important. The girl sitting at his bar was in danger, and M.J. was willing to set aside her pride to help her. Snake looped two fingers through the belt loops on either side of her hips and drew M.J. toward him, fitting her right in between his powerful thighs. “When have you ever had to ask?”

“I don’t know. I just thought, maybe after last time . . .” She trailed off. Their turbulent history lay between them, as always.

“I guess you’ll just have to work really hard to make it up to me,” he said softly.

She happily responded with a kiss. He closed his arms around her waist, practically lifting her off the floor as he took immediate possession of her mouth. She melted against him with a soft moan.

When they rejoined Baby in the bar, she had already scarfed down half her bowl of chili. Jack, their resident playboy, had immediately filled the seat next to her to work on his A-game with the newest female. He realized his error as M.J. approached. “Back off, Jack. She’s underage.”

He held up his hands. He knew better than to pick a fight with the feisty redhead, who wasn’t called a “force of nature” for nothing. “No need to get testy.” He turned to Baby with a teasing pout. “You didn’t tell me you were underage.”

“You never gave me the chance,” Baby pointed out.

Snake laughed. “Now that’s a girl that speaks her mind. I like you already,” he told her with another wink. “Just give me about twenty to finish up a few things and then we can get out of here.”

Baby’s eyes widened. “Where are we going?”

Snake glanced between Baby and M.J. “Home,” he finally declared.

Baby opened her mouth, but no refusal was forthcoming. She couldn’t go back to the streets. She had had two brushes with disaster within the last twenty-four hours. She knew better than to press her luck with a third. And something told her she was completely safe with Snake. She wasn’t as sure about the redhead at his side, especially after seeing what she did to those scary men in the alley. M.J. was easily the most unpredictable woman Baby had ever met, which made her almost a threat by default.

But what choice did she have, really?

She finished her chili and crackers. She’d sucked down three sodas to fend off its five-alarm hot pepper, as well as her dry mouth from her earlier high. True to his word, Snake was ready to go shortly after. He shrugged on a jacket similar to the one M.J. had loaned her, and she followed them both on shaking legs to the parking lot. Without being told, she climbed aboard M.J.’s bike and waited.

***

The Storm is coming in EIGHT DAYS!! Pre-order CHASING THUNDER through AMAZON, iTUNES and KOBO!

"Back for Seconds" Chapter One Preview and Pre-Order Info!

Enjoy a sneak peek of BACK FOR SECONDS, my new book releasing May 1. As you can tell from this introduction, I throw my heroine's world right into chaos from the get-go. Learning her husband has cheated on her was only the beginning. Her whole world gets turned upside down when he refuses to save the marriage, and she's forced to abandon the life they had built together. This will make her ripe for the pickin's for one of my sexiest heroes yet. Seriously, y'all... I can't WAIT for you to meet Xander. You like an alpha male who takes what he wants? It's going to take that kind of a guy to remind Joely what it means to be wanted, pursued and valued. We'll get to him over the course of the month. In the meantime, enjoy Chapter One!

You can pre-order it now!

***

The last time that Joely Morgan had been in her bedroom she had thrown a heavy hand-blown glass vase at the wall. It was fitting. It had been a wedding present and, like the marriage itself, it deserved to be destroyed. It had been a beautiful vase, with only one minor inclusion she had found a week after her honeymoon. She had joked with Russell about it way back then, saying that proved that things didn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful. That one tiny air bubble gave the vase character, made it interesting. She believed with her whole heart that had been a good omen for their marriage. It wouldn’t be perfect, just like their courtship hadn’t been perfect.

But it could last forever, just like that solid, tear-drop vase swirled with deep cobalt blue and emerald green. As it so happened that vase shattered quite handily when hurled against the wall. It easily broke into pieces just like the rest of her life the second she found out her husband of seventeen years had been sleeping with a younger woman from his office.

She remembered the look on his face as she stood in front of him, confronting him with what she knew. He didn’t even have the decency to be ashamed. “Yes,” he said simply when she asked him if he had slept with this girl. “She makes me feel alive again. It’s something I’ve been missing for a long, long time.”

That was when Joely started throwing their expensive belongings across the room like some demented carnie game from hell. She wrecked, on purpose, the home that she had meticulously kept so tidy, just like the rest of their four-bedroom house on the southwest side of Abilene, Texas. It was a 3,000-square-foot brick monstrosity adjacent to a golf course where Dr. Russell Morgan could be found at least three days a week, which usually included the weekend.

Golf had been a major sticking point in their marriage. Given Russell was one of the top cardiac surgeons in West Texas, his schedule didn’t allow much free time. Russell always managed to fill what little there was of it with golf, despite their large family. The rearing of their three children was left largely to Joely, whose career had been a stay-at-home mom ever since Russell opened his first practice.

While she was supposed to be a 24-hour counselor, chauffeur, chef and cop, he got to show up a few hours a week like Santa Claus. He didn’t get to see them, he said, so he would leave most of the discipline up to her. Instead he was the one they went to for allowances, special gifts and – often – a get-out-of-kid-jail-free card when Joely wouldn’t cave in to what they wanted.

He often used his work schedule as an excuse to bail when things got a little too intense around the house. Due to the life-and-death nature of his particular expertise, he was on-call pretty much 24/7, so their family dinners were interrupted whenever he was needed, even if it meant flying to Dallas, Amarillo or Houston and staying overnight. In fact, the only family commitment that was binding at all was the two hours they spent at church every Sunday.

Church, she scoffed, her lip upturned in that same snarl she hadn’t quite been able to unscrew from her face for the past week and a half. They attended one of the biggest churches in south Abilene every single week without fail, presenting the picture-perfect Christian family, an all-American success story of fidelity, honesty and faith. It had all been a big fat lie. Little did she know her domestic bliss had come with its own hidden inclusion that she had never quite noticed in seventeen years. It took finding an email to his new lover to blow the whole thing to bits, just like the expensive vase that had crashed against the wall.

Now, ten days after The Event, she stood staring at the indention left behind. He hadn’t had it fixed yet. Who knew if he would? Who cared? It was his house now. He could do with it what he pleased, including moving in his 22-year-old playmate. Like some twisted soap opera, the part of Joely Morgan would now be played by an up-and-comer named Jena. She would sleep in her room, on her bed, on her sheets, living her life.

With a sigh Joely turned towards her huge walk-in closet. It was 10’x10’, with a long, squat chest in the middle that created two aisles in the large space. One side was his, filled with expensive suits and casual wear. The other side was hers, filled to the brim with all the pretty things he had bought for her over the years. Her throat tightened as she stared at the two wardrobe moving boxes waiting to be filled. She said nothing as she began the transfer, with all the designer clothes she had worn by duty of being a doctor’s wife.

To be truthful she hadn’t exactly worn many of the clothes that hung in her closet. Chasing around after three kids didn’t leave her much spare time to worry about such things. She generally wore sweats or jeans, with any functional top within reach. She also had a vanity table full of makeup and perfume, much of which dried out or expired before she could fully use it all. She only broke it out for special occasions, such as the aforementioned church. Other than that, her lavish wardrobe and vanity sat untouched unless she was required to step out on Russell’s arm as his lovely, doting wife should the occasion call for it.

Other than that everything just hung in her closet, neatly out of sight.

It dawned on her as she crammed the wardrobe boxes full that the same could be said for her. Russell had always kept her neatly tucked away until she was needed, on his terms, at his convenience.

Now he didn’t need her anymore. He had made that perfectly clear ten days before. She had gone all in when she said, “You want a taste of the single life? Maybe I should just leave, then.”

Those cool blue eyes never faltered. “Maybe.” It was all he said, and all, really, that needed saying. He was done. It was over. Instead of fighting for their marriage, he walked out of the house that Friday night. By Monday, he had contacted a lawyer. Since Texas wouldn’t recognize any legal separation, he settled for an informal one. They worked out an agreement. She would move out of the house, with the kids, (“Because they need you,” he had said,) and he would provide a monthly check in lieu of child support, ensuring him semi-weekly visits with his children.

It was all perfectly civilized, though every time Joely thought about it she wanted to scream. Despite their years together he had easily let her go. “I’m not in love with you anymore, Joely,” he said, without a hint of remorse or regret. He hadn't mourned their lost love and he certainly hadn't apologized for nailing the coffin shut on their seventeen-year marriage.

Why should he apologize? It had just happened. They grew apart, like many other couples. They’d lasted longer than many of their friends, an accomplishment that used to fill her with a sense of pride.

Now she was a stone’s throw from forty and on her own just like those women she used to pity.

Well, technically she wasn’t on her own. The minute Russell left the house after The Event, she had called her mother. After a few unladylike curses, Lillian Murphy formulated a contingency plan within mere minutes. Eventually Joely would have to find a job to get into her own place, but until then she could move back home to mother.

“It’s a big ol’ empty house anyway,” Lillian had said. “Five bedrooms, just me and your Gran. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to get back on your feet.”

Her kids were far less enthusiastic about this plan. Five-year-old Hannah immediately burst into tears. “I won’t get to sleep in my room anymore?”

“No, honey,” Joely said as she stroked her hair. “But it’s at Nanna’s house. You love staying there, don’t you?”

Hannah nodded but her crying didn’t cease. Fourteen-year-old Nash didn’t cry. In fact he didn’t speak at all. He sat there in the formal dining room, completely stoic, staring at the wood grain on the table. His adolescence had turned a once cheerful little boy into a moody, withdrawn teenager who wore black almost exclusively. She had read every book she could get her hands on regarding depression in teens, but he had been a particularly hard nut to crack. It as though it physically pained him to show any kind of emotion.

Kari Morgan didn’t have that problem. At fifteen, she was comfortable sharing every single emotion she had the very instant she had it. She had always been an expressive child, ever since she was a baby. Joely often envied her willingness to be seen and heard. She was a bit like her grandmother that way. It was one of the positives of moving back home to Lillian’s 1930s colonial home in Old Elmwood, a distinguished, older neighborhood just east of the Winters Freeway.

Unfortunately Kari didn’t see it the same way. Her safe, upper-class existence had imploded, violently, just like Mount Vesuvius. To hear her tell it, Kari Morgan was essentially Pompeii. All these changes were just that dire. Since Joely couldn’t promise that she and Russell would reconcile any too soon, if at all, they made every single change as if they were permanent. This included changing schools and moving across town from her friends.

Of course, in a city of 120,000 people ‘across town’ was still just a ten-minute car ride away at the most. From the way Kari was acting, it was like they were moving to Mars. She screamed and cried before she stomped from the room, slamming every door between the dining room and her bedroom upstairs.

It had been like wrangling wild mustangs trying to coordinate the move these past ten days. Even now, while Joely toiled away, filling box after box, her kids were scattered to their different rooms, each procrastinating as they did their level best to delay the inevitable.

Joely couldn’t help but feel a bit resentful. It was hard enough to leave. She had invested years creating a home for her family. She had picked every single piece of furniture. She had chosen every single knickknack. From the paintings and photos on the wall to the tiles on the floor, every single inch of the place had her touch on it.

“I should have fought for the house,” she mumbled as she started filling another box with shoes.

She probably would have, had Russell decided one way or the other if he wanted a divorce. For now, he just wanted to “wait and see” how the new arrangement worked for everyone. What he really meant is that he wanted to see how it worked for him. If he had cared about Joely at all he never would have cheated on her.

Her blood burned just thinking about it. Russell admitted that the affair began six months before. He had been lying for six solid months, to her, to their kids, to their God every Sunday he sat stoic and pious in that church pew, silently condemning everyone else. Likewise he didn’t come to her, letting her know anything was wrong. He never gave her a chance to fix what was ultimately broken in their relationship. He just made all the choices for her, which was the most disrespectful thing he could have done. He didn’t value her as a person, certainly not as a mate. He just decided one day he didn’t love her anymore and that was that.

“That’s an easy decision to make for the guy who has already found someone else,” she had sneered. “What if I had done that to you?”

He had chuckled then, which only pissed her off even more. “Be serious, Joely.”

Those three words had emotionally leveled Joely. It wasn’t just that her husband didn’t want her anymore. He was sure no one else did either. She was like last season’s fashion trend, or last year’s technology breakthrough. As a thirty-nine-year-old homemaker, she was obsolete.

“Joely?” she heard Russell call from the bedroom. Out of habit she scrambled to her feet when she heard his call, and cursed herself the minute she did so. He appeared at the door of the closet, looming large at six-foot-three.

Even though she hated to admit it, he still took her breath away. He was as handsome a man at forty-two as he ever was at twenty-four, when they met. He was tall and fit, with smooth jet black hair with a touch of gray at the temples. He wore a neatly trimmed beard, which only made him look more distinguished. Add that to the fat bank account, luxury car and the thriving medical practice, and he was still as desirable today as he had been in 1996. Maybe even more so.

Unlike Joely, whose hips had widened with every birth, and whose boobs had begun to lose their battle with gravity, whose long, brown hair looked best tied back in a convenient ponytail, he was able to dip his toe back into the dating waters. Girls of all ages flocked to him. Apparently one of them had already reeled him in.

“I thought you weren’t going to be here today,” she said as she continued stuffing things in a box.

“I wanted to say goodbye to the children personally,” he said in that calm, condescending tone he had perfected as a renowned surgeon.

She shoved another belonging into the box. “How generous of you.”

He leaned against the door jam. “I was hoping we could conduct this ugly business as mature adults.”

“Funny,” she said. “That’s how I felt about our marriage.”

He turned to leave, which broke her heart even more. He wouldn’t fight, for her or the kids. He was willing to just walk away from everything they had built. She wanted to scream at him, to ask him why. If only she had another vase to throw.

She followed him to the bedroom. “You have nothing to say?”

He spared her a glance. “I think we’ve said all we needed to say.”

How could that be possible? She still had so many unanswered questions. Rationally she knew that no answer he could give would ever satisfy her, but dammit. He should at least try. He was the one in the wrong. It was up to him to repent, to fix this mess… to make things okay again. “You haven’t said you’re sorry,” she pointed out.

His gaze was as direct as his tone. “Because I’m not.” Her jaw dropped as she stared at him. “Face it, Joely, we’ve been coasting for years. We don’t talk. We don’t have sex. We are really nothing more than glorified roommates. Be honest. Is this what you wanted for your life?”

Her answer was immediate. “Yes. This is what we signed up for, you and me. For better, for worse. Remember?”

“Those were promises made by clueless twenty-year-olds,” he dismissed easily as he stopped next to the door. It was as though he couldn’t wait to get away from her.

“Clueless twenty-year-olds who loved each other,” she corrected.

He smirked. “This isn’t some fairy tale, Joely. This is real life. And sometimes there aren’t any happily ever afters.”

She wanted to scream at him, telling him there could be if they were both willing to fight for it. For Russell Morgan that fight was over.

He left her to her task so that he could spend a little more time with the kids. By the time she headed downstairs, she realized that much of their things weren’t even packed. She had hoped to be out of there by sundown, but thanks to Russell she now had at least two more hours of work to do.

“Just leave their stuff here,” he shrugged. “They’re going to be visiting twice a month anyway. Might as well leave it as familiar and welcoming as possible.”

She noted that exemption only applied for the children. He hadn’t stopped her from packing everything she owned and removing it from the house. “Fine,” she responded tightly. “The movers will be here tomorrow at seven o’clock.” She turned to her three kids. Hannah burst into tears as she flung herself at her Daddy. He picked her up and cuddled her close, crooning into her ear. “Now, now,” he said as he kissed her hair. “Be a big girl. It’s going to be all right.” She was still inconsolable as he placed her back onto her feet. He turned to Nash, who was doing his best not to cry. His eyes were glassy and his lip quivered as he faced his father, who ruffled his hair. “You’re the man of the house now,” he said. “I want you to be strong for the girls.” Joely had to wonder if she was included in that group. She suspected not. In every way Joely was no longer Russell’s concern. Russell turned to Kari, who fell apart as she threw her arms around his neck. “I don’t want to go,” she wailed as she clung to him.

“I know, Kare-Bear,” he said as he patted her back. “But you’ll be back before you know it.” He tried to untangle her arms, but she had a death grip. His voice was soft and sure. “Come on, now. It won’t be as bad as you think.”

“It’s awful,” she sobbed into his neck. “Please don’t make me go.”

The pain in her voice tore at Joely’s heart. She hated to see her daughter so devastated. And she hated Russell for it, more every day. “Give it some time,” Russell told his daughter. “You’ll see that this is the best thing for everyone.”

“It’s just best for you!” she hollered, her mood turning on a dime. With that she grabbed her bags and ran from the house. Nash shuffled his feet behind her, holding Hannah’s hand in his.

Joely turned to Russell. He reached down for an envelope on the table in their huge foyer. For all the things she had hoped he’d say, he said nothing at all. He handed her the envelope, which, from the blue checkered paper within the clear window, she could tell was a check. He was paying her to take care of his children, but more importantly he was paying her to leave. She took it without saying anything, stuffed it in her purse and walked out of that $350,000 home with her head held high.

***

To be continued!! Stay tuned!

The Walking Dead Season 5 Finale, "Conquer," Recap

**This review is based off of the televised episodes (not the comic book storyline) of The Walking Dead, covering events that have already aired. May contain spoilers for those who are not caught up.**

Whew.

All right, y'all. We made it. And so did our favorite WD peeps, which was a huge, but welcome, surprise after all they put us through in Season Five. That made us all (well, me) especially anxious heading into the finale, which producers and cast members warned would be a doozy. That amped up the tension for some already powerful, tense scenes where we got *really* close to losing Glenn, Rick and our beloved Daryl. (I can't even...)

The 90-minute episode started with a tense and brilliant re-introduction of fan-favorite Morgan, who had been trailing our intrepid survivors all season. We didn't know what to expect from Morgan, given his precarious emotional state the last time Rick, Michonne and Carl encountered him in Season Three's "Clear." Lennie James, the actor who portrays Morgan, has a compelling intensity anyway and he led this first scene brilliantly.

We don't know what to expect when he encounters the first live person we've found with a "W" on his head, who gives some insight on the Wolves mystery. He confirms my earlier theory about a group of humans who create zombies to do their dirty work, which - thankfully - was one of the only things I was right about. The "W" traveler tells Morgan that he plans to take everything he has and all that he is, and Morgan tells him that *probably* ain't gonna happen... before promptly beating this guy's ass, along with his buddy, Yoda-style with a handy wooden staff.

On the Talking Dead, Chris Hardwick said that apparently Morgan had been off training at the Jedi Academy, which sounds about right. I don't know where he learned all his crazy moves but it set the tone immediately for this episode, and for Season Six, really, that we have another kickass character for the show. After losing Tyreese especially, this was welcome news. The Walking Dead giveth just like it taketh away.

Since we already have a Samurai, Morgan appears to be eying the role of a Shaolin monk. He doesn't actually kill these two marauders, instead giving them sanctuary inside an abandoned car where they can recover and go on their merry way long after Morgan is long gone. This merciful decision, and Morgan's idea that all life is precious, will come back to bite us all in the ass later, but hey. Season Six, right?

:/

Rick was sleeping off his latest Shane-esque episode under the watchful eye of Michonne, who had layeth the smack DOWN on Rick in the final moments of the last episode. This once again demonstrates she is really the only member of their group who could show that same level of leadership and strength as Rick's equal. She's doing whatever she can do to keep the peace, trying to keep it together, so they can all stay in this safe place that they have found with folks who don't quite grasp the gravity of the situation. If that sounds familiar, it's because it is. Michonne is now channeling Season Two's Rick from the farm, when he had to corral Shane right as he was going off the rails.

Also stepping into her own was Carol, who immediately assesses the situation, breaking it down for Glenn, Abraham, Michonne and Rick. She knows that Alexandria is full of innocent folks who just want to protect, with everything they've got, their happy ending. She knows how to use that to her advantage. Rick tells them what they have to do to "conquer" Alexandria, which perplexes both Glenn and Michonne - neither of whom want to resort to threats or violence to make their point, or secure their position in this new town. Carol has no such reservations. She's ready to do whatever needs to be done to ensure their safety in this new town, and the safety of everyone in it - both groups included.

Season Five will probably go down, for me, as the Season of Carol. This is where we see how far this character has come from the beginning. I feared for her all the way through this episode, which I expected to end much, much bloodier than it actually did. She's ready for war, and really... so are we. So when she shows up at Pete's door, with a friendly little casserole, and a big-ass knife, we see exactly how she's changed from the mousy little thing Ed the Asshole (EdHole) used to bully. In fact, Carol, though smaller and less obviously deranged than Pete, is wayyyy more threatening and dangerous when she delivers some not-so-friendly advice in a bone-chilling even tone. It promptly puts him in his place when she tells him she can kill him and there's nothing anyone will do about it, and he knows it. You know you've bitten off more than you can chew when Scary Poppins is laying down the law. "I want my dish back clean when you're done."

Maggie campaigns actively with Deanna to keep Rick as part of the group. Her husband, Reg, tries to assure Maggie that the only way they can survive is together. He wants to bridge the gap, despite the worrisome behavior exhibited by the members of our group... like say - SASHA, and her quiet, alone-time lying on top of a pile of walkers she's been collecting in a ditch. Girl's got some issues, but understandably so. She's torn between the desire to make it all stop, to make it all go away, and the innate desire to keep surviving at all costs.

We knew from the teasers that Daryl would encounter some trouble outside the walls, where he travels with Aaron to find new recruits for their idyllic little town. He gives some insight on the last people to be exiled from Alexandria, which remains the biggest threat for Rick at this point, again a throwback to Season Two and the decision Rick was forced to make to either exile, or execute, Randall.

Daryl and Aaron observe from afar a traveler in a red poncho, whom Daryl wants to track because he demonstrates survival skills. This doesn't really do much for Red Poncho Guy later in the episode, however, something I guess we all should have seen coming due to the color he wore, a nod, whether intentional or not, to Star Trek.

(I mean, really. Why on earth would he wear something so visible? One would think that, traveling alone in a world where you are hunted by BOTH walkers and humans, you wouldn't necessarily want to draw any attention to yourself.)

I kinda wish Nicholas was wearing something red, to be quite honest with you. I want this prick (Prickolas?) dead in THE worst way. He scales the wall and Glenn goes after him - without being armed - which was absolutely no bueno. Remember, we were promised that some sad times were a'comin, and with Daryl already out fifty miles away from safety, we really didn't need another one of our favorites in such peril, which happens later when Prickolas decides to SHOOT GLENN out of the clear blue sky.

STABBITY. Where's a grenade when you need one?

Quite fortuitously, Daryl and Aaron happen upon an abandoned food supply company with a bunch of what appear to be loaded trucks. This goldmine of a find promises enough food to feed their growing community. If it seems too good to be true, it totally is. We already knew that the Wolves were setting traps, and this one was a DOOZY, y'all. I have never been more scared for Daryl in. my. life. When Daryl springs the trap, which - btw- seems REALLY unDaryl-like, it unleashes dozens upon dozens of walkers that force our adorable little rats Daryl and Aaron into a handy abandoned car in the parking lot. Not helping things much is the discovery of a note that let them know, in no uncertain terms, they were in a trap and bad people were coming.

SUPER.

This nail-biting, edge-of-your-seat sequence was classic Walking Dead. I know all of us were preparing our riot gear when it appeared that Daryl had no hope, which they sold *convincingly.* My sphincter has yet to unclench.

Back in Alexandria, Rick himself is "sprung" from solitary confinement, returning home to Carl, who insists that Rick needs to do whatever he can to convince the Alexandrites to keep him around. "They need us. They'll die without us." It gives us some insight into how Carl is maturing in this new, disturbing world. Thanks to his "parents," i.e., Rick and Michonne, who has stepped in as a pseudo Mom in Lori's absence, (and doing it better, if ya ask me,) we see the best of both of these characters in Carl. It kind of makes me resent Jessie's presence, frankly. Yes, Rick has the hots for her. Yeah, she's pretty and has that whole wholesome Mom/damsel in distress thing going on. But I am soundly Team Richonne and have been since Season Three. There is more unexplored chemistry between Rick and Michonne than I've seen in Jessie and Rick, demonstrated later in that epi when Michonne tells him in no uncertain terms that she's got his back, and will go with him, regardless.

That's love, y'all.

Michonne is no Andrea. She's not going to swap the family she's chosen for a warm bed. She couldn't. And Rick knows that. That's why he comes clean to Michonne, because he knows he has to. He can and does trust her, letting her know that she was the one who could talk him down from the ledge and change his mind. Their bond runs deep.

Jessie who?

Daryl and Aaron share a bonding moment of their own in the car where they're trapped. Daryl admits that he feels more like himself anywhere but Alexandria, even in that cramped little car where peril looms inches away from his handsome face. (Yes, I love him. Get over it.) Aaron admits that Daryl was the reason he chose to bring his group back to Alexandria. (He loves him too. So there. :P ) When Daryl decides he needs to make a run for it, despite the fact that the car is covered with snarling, hungry walkers, Aaron tells him that they do it together or not at all. As we brace for the two turning into zombie chow, Morgan shows up to save the day. I've never been happier to see ANYONE in that whole damn show, especially when his quick thinking and magical staff gets our guys to safety on the other side of the fence. Aaron immediately offers that they all go back to Alexandria, but Morgan makes it clear he's on his own mission. He's tracking Rick Grimes, for whatever reason, and he innocently offers the map to figure out where he's going. From the look on Daryl's face, we know that's probably back to Alexandria. (Yay!)

Oh, Father Gabriel. I've never wanted a man of the cloth to bite it so freaking bad. You committed what felt like an unforgivable crime, betraying our group to Deanna just like Judas. When you went out, alone, unarmed, to invite death - I was truly hoping you'd find it. Instead, like Sasha, the fight to survive kicked in just in the nick of time, denying us all the very satisfying idea of watching you be torn to shreds just like your congregation once once.

But no. You returned to Alexandria in one piece and - oddly - without one speck of blood on your pristine white shirt. It's much cleaner than your hands, which are stained with the blood of everyone who crosses your path. That you left the gate ajar, with no thought to anyone's safety, was classic Father Gabriel. If we didn't have you to fuck things up, just where would we all be?

Oh right, SAFE in a zombie-less, walled community. Thanks for nothing, Gabe. #stillnotoverit

Showing much more forgiveness than I can apparently muster this episode were Abraham and Eugene, who finally got to chat about their painfully strained relationship over Tara's sickbed. Abraham actually musters an apology of all things. It was gruff but sincere, showing his growth from the suicidal soldier without a war he was when Eugene first happened upon him. It was a nice little moment before everything started falling to shit.

Again, classic Walking Dead.

Prickolas shows some growth out beyond the walls, abandoning his gun for a knife to handle a walker. So he can be trained. Still don't care. He gets promptly tackled by Glenn (YAY) and they get a few good licks in before Prickolas once again leaves someone for dead when a small horde shows up. Again he puts our Glenn in peril, and AGAIN I'm ready to go through the TV and slit the douche bag's neck my own damned self. I felt relatively sure going into tonight's episode that our Glenn was safe and sure to survive. He'd been on the Talking Dead in recent weeks, which I thought for sure was a dead-giveaway that he'd be in the clear. A fan favorite like Glenn would get a proper send-off, I was sure. And there's still that whole ugly business with Negan coming, where Glenn played a big part of his introduction in the comic book. Yet despite that, I truly feared for his safety this episode, which made it even more stressful to watch. I know it's going to hurt to lose Glenn one day and I ain't ready. There. I said it.

Rick soon discovers the open gate, realizing at once that a walker, or several, have infiltrated the town. He skips the community forum that night track down these walkers before they get to anyone, particularly the ill-prepared Alexandrites he's been charged now, by his son (and probably his own conscience,) to protect. They are clueless to this as they gather to argue his fate in their fine hamlet. It's up to Maggie, Carol and Michonne - and even Abraham in his unique poetic way - to make inroads for the absent Rick. "Who he is is who you're gonna be, if you're lucky." Little do they all know it means learning how to shove a gun right through the brain of a walker in one of the nastier Finger Shields moment of the episode. (Ick.)

Meanwhile Sasha, our sharpshooter, has taken a mental health moment to find sanctuary in the makeshift church, turning to Father Gabriel (ick) for emotional and spiritual guidance. Instead he harshly condemns her behavior, telling her that she doesn't deserve the safety she now enjoys within the walls. He stokes her emotional instability by invoking images of Bob and Tyreese. This doesn't go well for the near-suicidal priest, who finds himself at the hands of a woman equally at the end of her rope.

I may or may not have been yelling, "Do what you gotta DO, girl!" at the TV. But I'm not bitter. :/

Maggie channels Hershel a LOT in this episode, using reason to reach the fearful Alexandrites. When Deanna shares with her community that Father Gabriel had come to her, to warn her about the group, it becomes clear that Maggie did not and would not act on this information, though she was privy to it the minute it happened. This comes into play when she happens upon Sasha holding a gun on Father Gabriel. When Father Gabriel finally owns his most heinous act, leaving his whole congregation to be torn to bits just outside the church walls that kept him safe, it is Maggie who reaches out a hand to him, literally, to pull him up from his lowest point, literally. She is the spiritual center for these two lost people, holding them together in a way that would have made Hershel proud. Her act of mercy mirrors her husband's as he has Prickolas at gun-point, with the sniveling little weasel begging for his life. (WHAT ABOUT NOAH, YOU ASSHOLE? HIS SCREAMS STILL RING IN MY EARS.) I may or may not have been yelling, "Do what you gotta DO, baby!" to the TV. As mad as Glenn was, as well as Steven Yeun NAILED that performance, he didn't shoot the fucker point blank like he deserved. Instead he leads him back to safety arm in arm, typical Glenn. I fear that Glenn's act of mercy, not unlike Morgan's, will come back to haunt them all in Season Six. I trust Prickolas about as far as I can throw him at this point. But who knows what kind of justice he will face when he gets back to Alexandria?

Things are changing there by the second after Rick hand-delivers a walker to this frightened community meeting, taking a cue from Carl to "make them listen," to what he has to say. Reckoning back to his Ricktatorship speech of Season Two's finale, his "How many of you do I have to kill to save your lives?" speech makes it crystal clear that they need him, and he'll do what he needs to do to keep them safe whether they like it or not.

Enter Pete, wielding Michonne's Katana. :/ In a scene taken almost straight from the comics, Pete slits poor Reg's throat and he dies in his wife's arms. Deanna, overcome with her grief from her back-to-back losses, gives the green light to Rick to do the dirty deed she could never do. Leave it to Rick to finally get ONE gratifying death of the finale. He doesn't waste a second to waste Pete right in front of everyone, including Jessie. And of course this is where Aaron and Daryl happen upon the gruesome scene. They have returned with "All life is precious" Morgan, who is STUNNED to see how far Rick has come since the last time they met. It is truly an "Oh Shit" moment worthy of a season finale.

Given the Wolves are now virtually at their back door, fifty miles away but armed of the knowledge of their community and what all they possess, this deftly laid drama promises to make Season Six interesting to say the least.

I, for one, was glad to see Michonne put the Katana back on her back where it belongs. We know she'll need it.

Though the episode was expanded, I did not think it dragged for one minute. It had enough suspense, and I was terrified enough at what might happen, that I was on the edge of my seat the whole time. When it ended I took several deep breaths, glad that all of Rick's group, particularly the five (or six, really) that we started with in Season One, are still breathing. Even so, I'm kinda glad we get a break till they start the craziness again in October. Whether these "wolves" are two loners who just figured out a way to survive with their zombie army, or are a part of a larger, more dangerous group (Negan,) remains to be seen. There's plenty of time to speculate as we all catch our breath and put Season Five to rest at last.

I'll just say I'm excited that we have the full crew + Morgan to handle what comes.

And I guess that's it for now. See y'all again in October!