The Continuing Story of The Unicorn, The Irish Rovers

Werewolf Tropes and Motifs

So I've read a few excerpts from the werewolf novel I'm finishing up (Lycanthropic Summer).

It's structure is unique for, and the tone is, well, as my editor for Before The Blood remarked, "It's definitely not "'Bryony!'"

The novel has three components: part diary, part sub-novel, part flash fiction.

The diary part has three sections (June, July, and August) and each of those sections has entries.

Woven into the diary is the werewolf novel the protagonist is writing - along with flash fiction pieces of very short werewolf stories she's written.

Tropes and motifs in this novel include traditional and lesser known werewolf facts and lore (lycanthropy as mental illness, medical conditions that suggest a werewolf appearance, historical werewolves, and objects associated with werewolves) and a nod to mythology and fairy tales: Little Red Riding Hood, Hansel and Gretel, Pandora's Box, and The Green Lady.

Cameo appearance by unicorns.

The book also addresses some ethical questions, as you will read in the summary below.

It's not as long as my other novels (will finish up around 60,000 words, I think), but, I hope, it's just as engaging.

It didn't sit in my head as long as Bryony did, but it's probably been there at least a decade as I was still writing Bryony when I had the idea.

Here is its back cover copy:


Caryn Rochelle loves werewolf stories and promised herself she would write the world's greatest werewolf love story before her eighteenth birthday. But with the date just months away, Caryn has shredded more drafts than she's kept and is feeling desperate.

But then she learns the town's most prestigious couple has a dark secret: they're keeping a savage boy her age locked in their basement. One glimpse, and Caryn's inspiration skyrockets. Caryn knows she ought to report them, but...

Can it really hurt to wait until she finishes her story?

Childlike Play

For my birthday, which was back in the summer, Rebekah wanted to sign us up for a local venue's painting event, which featured waterscapes.

But the amount of was out of her budget.

So she went to a craft store and picked up two children's paint kits and brought them home. We did nothing with them because we could not find several hours where both of us were free.

Until this past Sunday.

For most Sunday afternoons over the last two years, I've met with a woman in her mid-90s to listen to her stories and take notes, as I was hired by her family to write her memoir.

But last Sunday, she celebrated Thanksgiving with her friends. Rebekah does not work on Sundays.

So, finally, we painted!

We had no time pressures. No looking at our phones to check the time or messages.

We listened to music (because my art teacher in sixth grade always played classical music during art projects and because my sister and I loved to listen to music while we colored, hours and hours of coloring) and we painted.

We did not talk much, except when asking to borrow a color of the other's paint.

It was several hours of background classical music and brush strokes.

Here's Rebekah's

Here's mine.