Robyn Peterman's Blog

Dash is BAAAACCCKKKKK and he’s giving away SIX of my books… FOR MY BIRTHDAY!!!

~Switching Hour  ~Witch Glitch  ~A Witch In Time  ~Magically Delicious  ~A Tale of Two Witches  AND  ~Three’s A Charm!!!!!

Yesssssssssssssssss!

Yep, I will be fifty-blah-flonk-blah-blah this month and I want to give a lucky reader a super cool present!  In honor of my Birthday and since Dash is such a generous if not slightly insane motherhumper, we are giving away signed paperback copies of the ENTIRE Magic and Mayhem Series—magical, hilarious and all kinds of smexy! There will be ONE lucky winner!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Praise for the Magic and Mayhem Series…

“If Amy Schumer and Janet Evanovitch had a baby, it would be Robyn Peterman!” ~Dakota Cassidy, USA Today Best Selling Author

“Magically Delicious is “funny, fast-paced, and filled with laugh-out-loud dialogue. Robyn Peterman delivers a sidesplitting, sexy tale of powerful witches and magical delights. I devoured Magically Delicious in one sitting!” ~ ANN CHARLES, USA Today Bestselling Author of the Deadwood Humorous Mystery Series

“Fucking awesome books” ~ Dash, Author of Nothing

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I will sign them and Dash insists he will sign them too whether you want him to or not. He’s good like that.

Dash had promised me a Birthday present I will not forget.  I am terrified.  I will keep you posted as events unfold. LOL

All you have to do to be in the running for an autographed copies of the ENTIRE Magic and Mayhem Seires is hit Dash’s face below and fill out the sign up!!!  

All winners will be selected randomly and notified by email. The contest is international.

Easy Peasy!!!

xoxo Robyn

Dash is BAAAACCCKKKKK and he’s giving away another one of my books! LOL

In honor of Mother’s Day and since Dash is such a rowdy mother humper… we are giving away signed paperback copies of FASHIONABLY FANGED—a book with a bite and all kinds of smexy! There will be three lucky winners!!!

I will sign it and Dash insists he will sign it too whether you want him to or not. He’s good like that.

I’m terrified of what Dash will give me for Mother’s Day, but it’s the thought that counts. Right?

As long as it’s not fishing gear, we’re good. However, his homemade gift certificate for naked greased up wrestling while the kids were at school shall forever go down history as seriously weird and slightly inappropriate.

But then again, weird is a compliment at our house… and naked greased up wrestling is really not so bad. LOL

All you have to do to be in the running for an autographed copy of FASHIONABLY FANGED is hit Dash’s face below and fill out the sign up!!!  

All winners will be selected randomly and notified by email. The contest is international.

Easy Peasy!!!

Dash and I are back. He recently had two wisdom teeth pulled and decided to celebrate by giving away more of my books. He also spent the entire car ride home after the procedure speaking in English and Gibberish about pico de gallo—for real. Thankfully he remembers none of it, and thankfully I do. LOL

This month Dash picked READY TO WERE and SOME WERE IN TIME. And just because the pain meds kicked in, he threw in the MP3 audio of READY TO WERE too!!!!!

Dash has insisted on signing the books. He’s weird like that. However, I will keep him—pico de gallo obsession and all. 

Dash wanted to add a note for you guys, but currently he’s passed out on the couch with a bag of ice on his face. If I was a butthole I’d take a picture… Actually I did take a picture, but that’s for the private collection. LOL

Dash and I send our love!!

PS… he wanted to include his yanked wisdom teeth, but I convinced him that was a freakin’ awful idea.

Hit Dash’s face to join the contest!

 

This is Dash. An all around athlete who reads the shit out of books—my books.

I’m married to Dash.

Dash is going to give away some of my books. 

This month he has picked First in Series! One lucky winner will get autographed paperbacks of FASHIONABLY DEAD, READY TO WERE and SWITCHING HOUR.

Dash says it’s only fair that since he’s helping me, he gets to sign them too. He’s not sure yet if he’s going to use a crayon or lipstick. 

He says he’ll surprise me.

Awesome.

Dash has taken up meditation. He likes the way the hopping around makes his fro bounce… I know, I already talked to him. I don’t think he understands the concept, but he feels a lot more peaceful. 

Speaking of fros, Dash tried to comb his fro. It didn’t end well. As I write he’s trying to extricate the broken pick from is curly locks. He’s also sporting several band-aids. When you accidentally stab yourself with a broken plastic pick, you bleed—a lot. 

Call me crazy, but I think Dash is hot.

Have a great day. I know Dash will.

xoxo Robyn

 

The contest runs January 11, 2018 until February 15, 2018. JOIN NOW!!

 

 

All you have to do to be in the running for autographed copies of Fashionably Dead, Ready To Were and Switching Hour is click on Dash’s face below and fill out the sign up!!!  

All winners will be selected randomly and notified by email. The contest is international.

Easy Peasy!!!

 

 

Today I have the insanely awesome pleasure of diving into the brain to one of my besties, author Donna McDonald!! She is my partner in crime, critique partner and one hell of an author!

Soooooooo, I have cornered her today to talk about her latest book, HOW TO TRAIN A DRAGON. It’s book 2 in the Baba Yaga Saga…which just happens to live in my Magic and Mayhem Kindle world! AND it’s alive NOW!!

My girl, Donna, has written the back story of Carol and Hildy and it totally rocks–hilarious and hotter than asphalt in August! Book one, HOW TO TRAIN A WITCH came out in June 2016 and book three, TO YAGA OR NOT TO YAGA will be released in the October 2016 Magic and Mayhem Kindle World Launch!

Yessssssssssssss!

So without further ado, here’s Donna!

 

 

Robyn- How did you and Robyn meet?

Donna– We met in a writer’s group. We were the only two comedy writers. Now my brain doesn’t feel so lonely.


Robyn- What exactly did Robyn have on you to get you to write in the Magic and Mayhem Kindle World?

Donna- The list is far too long and obnoxious to share with potential readers who I still have hopes of liking me. Let’s just say she blackmails very well.


Robyn- Rumor has it that you’re spinning the Baba Yaga Saga off into a series…..Is the TRUE???

Donna- Why yes… yes, I am. Hopefully, later this year. Carol and Hildy will be left behind. The rest of their stories can be found in the original books of Robyn’s Magic & Mayhem Series. However, the Jezibaba, Professor Hottie, and a couple new characters from Book 2 will be traveling with me.


Robyn- What is Asses on Fire?

Donna- Imagine a donkey on all fours with someone sticking a match to its butt. Now imagine that donkey kicking backwards trying to knock the ever-living shit out of the match holder. There you go. Three times a week and I hate her no matter how nice an ass it gives me.


Robyn- What else do you have cooking at the moment?

Donna- Book 3 in my Nano Wolves series. Another secret book series that is so wrong I can’t talk about it yet. Hopefully, another cyborg book this year. My writing aspirations are outpacing the ability of my fingers and brain to keep up. It’s been a good year.



Favorite Swear Word —  Feck (I think it sounds funnier)

Favorite Swear Word you learned from Robyn —  motherhumper

Favorite place to write —  Outside

Favorite ice cream — Love all flavors, but hold the sprinkles

Favorite sexual position —  Any position my husband bends me into

Favorite TV show — Big Bang Theory

Favorite genre to write — This changes with my mood. I cherish my freedom to write what I want.

Favorite male body part — I’m a whole package girl. Take that how you want.





Check out the blurb FROM HOW TO TRAIN A DRAGON!!!!



There were rules for dating dragons. The most important of all? Don’t get burned.

Instead of the Jezibaba, in the last eight years she’s become the Jeziblahblah. Dating her sexy academic dragon should have keep her mentally sharp, not caused her to drop all caution just because he looked good naked. She was getting soft. There was no doubt about it. When a young troublemaking dragon named Thane starts causing problems for Carol and HIldy, she’s the only one concerned.

She wasn’t the mothering type—no argument—but she was still their protector. Her instincts were flashing warning signs about the young dragon and she was not going to ignore them no matter how innocent Damien believed he was. She no longer had the luxury of pretending she’d found a perfect love. Instead it was time to face reality. She’d dated a hot dragon and gotten burned for giving him her heart.

With Thane still free to cause trouble, and Damien still not believing he was, her loyalty the disloyal dragon might end up being the worst mistake she’s ever made in her life.


Now I would suggest you go buy this book because it FREAKIN’ ROCKS!!!

Available at Amazon.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01HE2DRLU/

 

A big thank you to the brilliant Donna McDonald. If you wanna see more from my amazeballs friend, check out her website!!

http://www.donnamcdonaldauthor.com/how-to-date-a-dragon

xoxo Robyn

 

 

 

It wasn’t love at first sight. It wasn’t even like at first sight. She sat in my pantry and metaphorically flipped me off every time I glanced her way. Mind you, I might have lifted the birdie finger first but does that really matter?

No. I say no.

She snickered at me as I slaved away and made meals for my family that took hours. I heard her snarky laughter so I turned her on her head and put her next to the heinous duck tea kettle that I kept meaning to give away. (If anyone likes purple and yellow ducks, let me know.)

To me a crockpot felt like a minivan. Failure. I would be buying into the middle-ish aged mom mentality if I used a crock pot. I’d be admitting I wear sweat pants (or give up on life pants as my daughter calls them). I’d be caving into the soccer/dance/lacrosse mom label. I’d be old.

Wait. The. Frack. A. Minute…

I am a soccer/dance/lacrosse mom. I DO wear give up on life pants—proudly. I am old-ish. However, I will never drive a minivan. But if the shoe fits…

The fateful day dawned bright and sunny. A cool, billowy, fragrant, mystical, crisp, slightly chilly but not too bad for March breeze blew in from outside. I was wearing a sexy strapless sundress and four inch high Prada wedges. My make up was flawless and my hair flowed to my taut ass and touched the tops of my perfectly shaved legs with not one bandaid on them…

Wait. That’s utter bullshit. My bad.

It was raining. I was on a massive deadline for a book (as usual). I had on no make up and was wearing the give up on life pants that I’d slept in. My hair was a masterpiece from hell and my retainer was in my mouth. The truth will set you free or paint a nightmare inducing picture of reality. Whatever.

Anyhoo, I realized in a panic that my family eats food and there was very little of that in the house. If I went to the grocery store I could get food, but there would be no time to cook the damn stuff due to my other job as a taxi driver for my kids. Plus it was Senior Citizens Day at my grocery and I had a tattoo on my head that read “I will help everyone over 75 that can’t reach something even though I’m 5’2”.”

Quandary.

 I wasn’t going to do takeout again. We’d already done it several times that week and I was a freakin’ supermom. My mom worked full time, had four kids and cooked every dang night. What in the hell was my problem??? I was making dinner if it killed me.

And then she spoke.

“Robyn, you sloppy piece of crap, I could help you out if you would get over your disheveled self and take me out of the box,” a muffled feminine voice called out from the pantry.

“Who said that?” I yelled as I grabbed a butter knife and dropped into a low attack position.

“It’s me, you assduckle,” she shouted.

“Who’s me and what the hell is an assduckle?” I demanded warily.

“It’s me. Tina Turner. And an assduckle is a person who has an Anatidae tea kettle.”

What in the hell was Tina Turner doing in my pantry?  And why was she speaking French?

“I call bullshit,” I shot back.

She didn’t sound anything like Tina Turner or even Angela Basset.

“I’m your crockpot. I can make your life wonderful and oh so easy,” she promised.

I’d heard that one before on too many infomercials to count. The top shelf of my pantry was a testament to that horse crap.

“You make stuff that looks like throw up,” I snapped as I flicked on the pantry light and narrowed my eyes at her.

“Ohhhhh nonononono,” she disagreed with a giggle. “You just need the right recipe.”

I was silent as I pondered what she said. It was also unsettling to hear a kitchen appliance giggle. Was she correct? Had I avoided her assistance because I thought all she could produce was a gelatinous looking pile of inedible poo made with Cream of Whatever soup?

“Do you have recipes?” I asked.

“Do you have a freakin’ computer?” she countered.

“I’m a writer, you buttsuckbrain. Of course I have a computer.”

“Then if you can actually read, you can find recipes.”

Ignoring her slam at my comprehension abilities, I grabbed Sally (my computer) and I got busy.

Tina Turner was correct. I was overwhelmed with the possibilities. Holy Hell on a stripper pole, maybe I’d been wrong all these years.

Only one way to find out.

I am now the crockpot freakin’ Goddess. This is a good thing and my family thinks I’m Betty Crocker on steroids.

Works for me.

Tina Turner and I are cautiously dating. Hot Hubby is fine with this since she’s a crockpot and he hasn’t had to go for takeout in a week.

She still flips me off and the oatmeal she made verged on vomitous, but we’re determined to give it a go. 

Annnnnndddddd in a shameless and not at all covert plug…the book I have to thank for my new ceramic gal pal is A WITCH IN TIME!!!! It was the hellacious deadline on that baby that led me to my new life as a crockpot user—or crockpot pusher as some have accused.

And if you’d like to read a pee in your pants funny book while eating a delicious non-pukey looking crockpot meal, pre-order your copy TODAY.

Tina said it was hilarious—and Tina knows funny.

xoxo Robyn 

Here’s the link to get the book. Tina had to wear Depends while reading!!!

http://robynpeterman.com/a-witch-in-time/

 

 

 

“What are you doing?” my Hot Hubby asked.

“I’m pulling my underwear out of my ass,” I replied with an eye roll.

“Um…isn’t that a bit counterproductive?” he asked in the same tone he uses when he asks me if I’m having my period due to my throwing of objects.

“What exactly are you implying?” I shot back with narrowed eyes as he carefully made his way to the door of my office.

“I’m just saying I saw you put on a thong this morning. Isn’t it supposed to be up your ass?”

His brilliance stopped me mid yank. He was correct. I had purposely worn crack floss today because I didn’t want panty lines. Damn it to hell. My hatred of panty lines was going to be the end of me.

I pulled my hand from my back side and tried to think happy thoughts. Puppies and kitties were not making the permanent wedgie go away. It was either suffer for my fashion or keep my hand at my crack all day.

I decided to suffer.

Hands at cracks are not lady like.

Period.

Oookay, this blog should really be about the wonderfully simple fact that I have a NEW BOOK coming out. Yep, Switching Hour will be released on September 22nd and it is my foray into witches!!! I had planned on it being a trilogy. However, my critique partners informed me I was smoking crack and they wanted this puppy to be the beginning of a new series.

I have capitulated and agreed. I absolutely love writing about Zelda the Shifter Whisperer and her crazy crowd of shape shifting nut bags. Soooooo, I shall continue.

I am now the proud mother of three freakn’ on-going series….Astrid and her clan (The Hot Damned Series), Essie and her clan (Shift Happens Series) and Zelda and her insane clan (Magic and Mayhem Series).

For those of you who like the deets…Switching Hour will be out September 22. Witch Glitch will be out the end of October and A Witch in Time will be out in November. Followed by Fashionably Hotter then Hell, the full length novel of Heathcliff and Raquel. YAYAYAYAYAY!

AND YES, there will be more Dwayne and Granny and of course Astrid. Astrid’s wedding has been percolating in my brain for a while now…Apparently Satan kidnapped Journey to play at the reception and Mother Nature has insisted she bake the wedding cake.

BUTT, pun intended, back to thongs.

My theory is that they are a necessary evil. However I feel the inventor should be both applauded and bitch slapped. To immortalize this flimsy piece of fabric, I shall give you an offensive list of terms to use when referring to the pain in the ass.

You are welcome.

xoxo Robyn

Thong

G-string

Butt floss

Butt string

Crack divider

Permanent wedgie

Melon separater

Anal sling

Crack floss

Bum floss

Fart muffler

Use these terms at parties. It will be a crowd pleaser. They can also bring any annoying conversation to a screeching halt. For example…

Jane the talker: “I think that the price of botox is insane and did you know that Martha got her teeth bleached and her gums got infected? Sara ate bad Chinese the other day and used the bathroom during pick up line at school for 25 minutes. The entire line stopped moving because she had to relieve herself. Can you imagine?”

You: “That’s awesome. My gosh, my crack floss is so far up my ass it’s squeezing my brain. Do you mind if I adjust my anal sling? You know, permanent wedgies are just not my thing, but panty lines are unacceptable. Fart mufflers are totally the way to go. Don’t you think?”

Jane the talker: total silence…total blessed silence.

If you try it, let me know how it works out for you. Fart Muffler is the best of the worst. I know this for a fact.

Again, you’re welcome.

GO BUY MY BOOK!!!!!

Here are the links!

  

Amazon

http://amzn.to/1Iozx1C

B&N

http://bit.ly/1MSGsGy

iBook

http://apple.co/1LzW4Ns

Kobo

http://bit.ly/1KpRLpi

Amazon CA

http://amzn.to/1EmF3GW

Amazon UK

http://amzn.to/1hkM00o

Amazon AU

http://bit.ly/1fKsppm

 

CRAPLOADS TO BE THANKFUL FOR (and a surprise chapter for you!!!)

 

November is a month to be thankful and I am thankful for soooooooo many things. I am thankful for my family. I have wonderful parents and brothers. I have cool sister in laws and nieces and nephews. I have a husband that I adore and kids that I’d step in front of a train for. I have more animals than you could shake a stick at and I have room in my heart (if not my house) for more.
I am a very lucky girl.
I am also thankful that at forty-blahblahblah that I have a new and amazeballs career. Writing was a dream of mine and now it’s my reality. If I can re-invent myself on the dark side of my forties (49 to be exact) so can anyone!!!!
So in the spirit of being thankful, I’d like to share the first chapter of READY TO WERE!!!! This book was released in the Three Southern Beaches anthology last July. The NEW and IMPROVED and LONGER version will be coming out November 25! However, it’s available for pre order NOW! YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY.
I hope you enjoy reading this sucker as much as I enjoyed writing it. It’s the first book in the SHIFT HAPPENS series.
Happy Reading!
Smooch, Robyn


Chapter 1
“You’re joking.”
“No, actually I’m not,” my boss said and slapped the folder into my hands. “You leave tomorrow morning and I don’t want to see your hairy ass till this is solved.”
I looked wildly around her office for something to lob at her head. It occurred to me that might not be the best of ideas, but desperate times led to stupid measures. She could not do this to me. I’d worked too hard and I wasn’t going back. Ever.
“First of all, my ass is not hairy except on a full moon and you’re smoking crack if you think I’m going back to Georgia.”
Angela crossed her arms over her ample chest and narrowed her eyes at me. “Am I your boss?” she asked.
“Is this a trick question?”
She huffed out an exasperated sigh and ran her hands through her spiked ‘do making her look like she’d been electrocuted. “Essie, I am cognizant of how you feel about Hung Island, Georgia, but there’s a disaster of major proportions on the horizon and I have no choice.”
“Where are you sending Clark and Jones?” I demanded.
“New York and Miami.”
“Oh my god,” I shrieked. “Who did I screw over in a former life that those douches get to go to cool cities and I have to go home to an island called Hung?”
“Those douches do have hairy asses and not just on a full moon. You’re the only female agent I have that looks like a model so you’re going to Georgia. Period.”
“Fine. I’ll quit. I’ll open a bakery.”
Angela smiled and an icky feeling skittered down my spine. “Excellent, I’ll let you tell the Council that all the money they invested in your training is going to be flushed down the toilet because you want to bake cookies.”
The Council consisted of supernaturals from all sorts of species. The branch that currently had me by the metaphorical balls was WTF—Werewolf Treaty Federation. They were the worst as far as stringent rules and consequences went. The Vampyres were loosey goosey, the Witches were nuts and the freakin’ Fairies were downright pushovers, but not the Weres. Nope, if you enlisted you were in for life. It had sounded so good when the insanely sexy recruiting officer had come to our local Care For Your Inner Were meeting.
Training with the best of the best. Great salary with benefits. Apartment and company car. But the kicker for me was that it was fifteen hours away from the hell I grew up in. No longer was I Essie from Hung Island, Georgia—and who in their right mind would name an island Hung—I was Agent Essie McGee of the Chicago WTF. The irony of the initials was a source of pain to most Werewolves, but went right over the Council’s heads due to the simple fact that they were older than dirt and oblivious to pop culture.
Yes, I’d been disciplined occasionally for mouthing off to superiors and using the company credit card for shoes, but other than that I was a damn good agent. I’d graduated at the top of my class and was the go-to girl for messy and dangerous assignments that no one in their right mind would take… I’d singlehandedly brought down three rogue Weres who were selling secrets to the Dragons—another supernatural species. The Dragons shunned the Council, had their own little club and a psychotic desire to rule the world. Several times they’d come close due to the fact that they were loaded and Weres from the New Jersey Pack were easily bribed. Not to mention the fire-breathing thing…
I was an independent woman living in the Windy City. I had a gym membership, season tickets to the Cubs and a gay Vampyre best friend named Dwayne. What more did a girl need?
Well, possibly sex, but the bastard had ruined me for other men…
Hank “The Tank” Wilson was the main reason I’d rather chew my own paw off than go back to Hung Island, Georgia. Six foot three of obnoxious, egotistical, perfect-assed, alpha male Werewolf. As the alpha of my local Pack he had decided it was high time I got mated…to him. I, on the other hand, had plans—big ones and they didn’t include being barefoot and pregnant at the beck and call of a player.
So I did what any sane, rational woman would do. I left in the middle of the night with a suitcase, a flyer from the hot recruiter and enough money for a one-way bus ticket to freedom. Of course, nothing ever turns out as planned… The apartment was the size of a shoe box, the car was used and smelled like French fries and the benefits didn’t kick in till I turned one hundred and twenty five. We Werewolves had long lives.
“Angela, you really can’t do this to me.” Should I get down on my knees? I was so desperate I wasn’t above begging.
“Why? What happened there, Essie? Were you in some kind of trouble I should know about?” Her eyes narrowed, but she wasn’t yelling.
I think she liked me…kind of. The way a mother would like an annoying spastic two year old who belonged to someone else.
“No, not exactly,” I hedged. “It’s just that…”
“Weres are disappearing and presumed dead. Considering no one knows of our existence besides other supernaturals, we have a problem. Furthermore, it seems like humans might be involved.”
My stomach lurched and I grabbed Angela’s office chair for balance. “Locals are missing?” I choked out. My grandma Bobby Sue was still there, but I’d heard from her last night. She’d harangued me about getting my belly button pierced. Why I’d put that on Instagram was beyond me. I was gonna hear about that one for the next eighty years or so.
“Not just missing—more than likely dead. Check the folder,” Angela said and poured me a shot of whiskey.
With trembling hands I opened the folder. This had to be a joke. I felt ill. I’d gone to high school with Frankie Mac and Jenny Packer. Jenny was as cute as a button and was the cashier at the Piggly Wiggly. Frankie Mac had been the head cheerleader and cheated on every test since the fourth grade. Oh my god, Debbie Swink? Debbie Swink had been voted most likely to succeed and could do a double backwards flip off the high dive. She’d busted her head open countless times before she’d perfected it. Her mom was sure she’d go to the Olympics.
“I know these girls,” I whispered.
“Knew. You knew them. They all were taking classes at the modeling agency.”
“What modeling agency? There’s no modeling agency on Hung Island.” I sifted through the rest of the folder with a knot the size of a cantaloupe in my stomach. More names and faces I recognized. Sandy Moongie? Wait a minute.
“Um, not to speak ill of the dead, but Sandy Moongie was the size of a barn…she was modeling?”
“Worked the reception desk.” Angela shook her head and dropped down on the couch.
“This doesn’t seem that complicated. It’s fairly black and white. Whoever is running the modeling agency is the perp.”
“The modeling agency is Council sponsored.”
I digested that nugget in silence for a moment.
“And the Council is running a modeling agency, why?”
“Word is that we’re heading toward revealing ourselves to the humans and they’re trying to find the most attractive representatives to do so.”
“That’s a joke, right?” What kind of dumb ass plan was that?
“I wish it was.” Angela picked up my drink and downed it. “I’m getting too old for this shit,” she muttered as she refilled the shot glass, thought better of it and just swigged from the bottle.
“Is the Council aware that I’m going in?”
“What do you think?”
“I think they’re old and stupid and that they send in dispensable agents like me to clean up their shitshows,” I grumbled.
“Smart girl.”
“Who else knows about this? Clark? Jones?”
“They know,” she said wearily. “They’re checking out agencies in New York and Miami.”
“Isn’t it conflict of interest to send me where I know everyone?”
“It is, but you’ll be able to infiltrate and get in faster that way. Besides, no one has disappeared from the other agencies yet.”
There was one piece I still didn’t understand. “How are humans involved?”
She sighed and her head dropped back onto her broad shoulders. “Humans are running the agency.”
It took a lot to render me silent, like learning my grandma had been a stripper in her youth, and that all male Werewolves were hung like horses… but this was horrific.
“Who in the hell thought that was a good idea? My god, half the female Weres I know sprout tails when flash bulbs go off. We won’t have to come out, they can just run billboards of hot girls with hairy appendages coming out of their asses.”
“It’s all part of the Grand Plan. If the humans see how wonderful and attractive we are, the issue of knowingly living alongside of us will be moot.”
Again. Speechless.
“When are Council elections?” It was time to vote some of those turd knockers out.
“Essie.” Angela rolled her eyes and took another swig. “There are no elections. They’re appointed and serve for life.”
“I knew that,” I mumbled. Skipping Were History class was coming back to bite me in the butt.
“I’ll go.” There was no way I couldn’t. Even though my knowledge of the hierarchy of my race was fuzzy, my skills were top notch and trouble seemed to find me. In any other job that would suck, but in mine, it was an asset.
“Good. You’ll be working with the local Pack alpha. He’s also the sheriff there. Name’s Hank Wilson. You know him?”
“Yep.” Biblically. I knew the son of a bitch biblically.
***
“You’re gonna bang him.”
“I am not gonna bang him.”
“You are so gonna bang him.”
“Dwayne, if I hear you say that I’m gonna bang him one more time, I will not let you borrow my black Mary Jane pumps. Ever again.”
Dwayne made the international “zip the lip and throw away the key” sign while silently mouthing that I was going to bang Hank.
“I think you should bang him if he’s a hot as you said.” Dwayne made himself comfortable on my couch and turned on the TV.
“When did I ever say he was hot?” I demanded as I took the remote out of his hands. I was not watching any more Dance Moms. “I never said he was hot.”
“Paaaaleese,” Dwayne flicked his pale hand over his shoulder and rolled his eyes.
“What was that?”
“What was what?” he asked, confused.
“That shoulder thing you just did.”
“Oh, I was flicking my hair over my shoulder in a girlfriend move.”
“Okay, don’t do that. It doesn’t work. You’re as bald as a cue ball.”
“But it’s the new move,” he whined.
Oh my god, Vampyres were such high maintenance. “According to who?” I yanked my suitcase out from under my bed and started throwing stuff in.
“Kim Kardashian.”
I refused to dignify that with so much as a look.
“Fine,” he huffed. “But if you say one word about my skinny jeans I am so out of here.”
I considered it, but I knew he was serious. As crazy as he drove me, I adored him. He was my only real friend in Chicago and I had no intention of losing him.
“I know he’s hot,” Dwayne said. “Look at you—you’re so gorge it’s redonkulous. You’re all legs and boobs and hair and lips—you’re far too beautiful to be hung up on a goober.”
“Are you calling me shallow?” I snapped as I ransacked my tiny apartment for clean clothes. Damn it, tomorrow was laundry day. I was going to have to pack dirty clothes.
“So he’s ugly and puny and wears bikini panties?”
“No! He’s hotter than Satan’s underpants and he wears boxer briefs,” I shouted. “You happy?”
“He’s actually a nice guy.”
“You’ve met Hank?” I was so confused I was this close to making fun of his skinny jeans just so he would leave.
“Satan. He’s not as bad as everyone thinks.”
How was it that everyone I came in contact with today stole my ability to speak? Thankfully, I was interrupted by a knock at my door.
“You expecting someone?” Dwayne asked as he pilfered the remote back and found Dance Moms.
“No.”
I peeked through the peephole. Nobody came to my place except Dwayne and the occasional pizza delivery guy or Chinese food take out guy or Indian food take out guy. Wait. What the hell was my boss doing here?
“Angela?”
“You going to let me in?”
“Depends.”
“Open the damn door.”
I did.
Angela tromped into my shoebox and made herself at home. Her hair was truly spectacular. It looked like she might have even pulled out a clump on the left side. “You want to tell me why the sheriff and alpha of Hung Island, Georgia says he won’t work with you?”
“Um…no?”
“He said he had a hard time believing someone as flaky and irresponsible as you had become an agent for the Council and he wants someone else.” Angela narrowed her eyes at me and took the remote form Dwayne. “Spill it, Essie.”
I figured the best way to handle this was to lie—hugely. However, gay Vampyre boyfriends had a way of interrupting and screwing up all your plans.
“Well, you see…”
“He’s her mate and he dipped his stick in several other…actually many other oil tanks. So she dumped his furry player ass, snuck away in the middle of the night and hadn’t really planned on ever going back there again.” Dwayne sucked in a huge breath, which was ridiculous because Vampyres didn’t breathe.
It took everything I had not to scream and go all Wolfy. “Dwayne, clearly you want me to go medieval on your lily white ass because I can’t imagine why you would utter such bullshit to my boss.”
“Doesn’t sound like bullshit to me,” Angela said as she channel surfed and landed happily on an old episode of Cagney and Lacey. “We might have a problem here.”
“Are you replacing me?” Hank Wilson had screwed me over once when I was his. He was not going to do it again when I wasn’t.
“Your call,” she said. Dwayne, who was an outstanding shoplifter, covertly took back the remote and flipped over to the Food Channel. Angela glanced up at the tube and gave Dwayne the evil eye.
“I refuse to watch lesbians fight crime in the eighties. I’ll get hives,” he explained, tilted his head to the right and gave Angela a smile. He was so pretty it was silly—piercing blue eyes and body to die for. Even my boss had a hard time resisting his charm.
“Fine,” she grumbled.
“Excuse me,” I yelled. “This conversation is about me, not testosterone ridden women cops with bad hair, hives or food. It’s my life we’re talking about here—me, me, me!” My voice had risen to decibels meant to attract stray animals within a ten-mile radius, evidenced by the wincing and ear covering.
“Essie, are you done?” Dwayne asked fearfully.
“Possibly. What did you tell him?” I asked Angela.
“I told him the Council has the last word in all matters. Always. And if he had a problem with it, he could take it up with the elders next month when they stay awake long enough to listen to the petitions of their people.”
“Oh my god, that’s awesome,” I squealed. “What did he say?”
“That if we send you down, he’ll give you bus money so you can hightail your sorry cowardly butt right back out of town.”
Was she grinning at me, and was that little shit Dwayne jotting the conversation down in the notes section on his phone?
“Let me tell you something,” I ground out between clenched teeth as I confiscated Dwayne’s phone and pocketed it. “I am going to Hung Island, Georgia tomorrow and I will kick his ass. I will find the killer first and then I will castrate the alpha of the Georgia Pack…with a dull butter knife.”
Angela laughed and Dwayne jackknifed over on the couch in a visceral reaction to my plan. I stomped into my bathroom and slammed the door to make my point, then pressed my ear to the rickety wood to hear them talk behind my back.
“I’ll bet you five hundred dollars she’s gonna bang him,” Dwayne told Angela.
“I’ll bet you a thousand that you’re right,” she shot back.
“You’re on.”




PRE ORDER TODAY!!!!!!

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iBOOK LINK- https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/ready-to-were/id938786247?mt=11&uo=4

CRAPLOADS TO BE THANKFUL FOR (and a surprise chapter for you!!!)


November is a month to be thankful and I am thankful for soooooooo many things. I am thankful for my family. I have wonderful parents and brothers. I have cool sister in laws and nieces and nephews. I have a husband that I adore and kids that I’d step in front of a train for. I have more animals than you could shake a stick at and I have room in my heart (if not my house) for more.I am a very lucky girl.I am also thankful that at forty-blahblahblah that I have a new and amazeballs career. Writing was a dream of mine and now it’s my reality. If I can re-invent myself on the dark side of my forties (49 to be exact) so can anyone!!!!So in the spirit of being thankful, I’d like to share the first chapter of READY TO WERE!!!! This book was released in the Three Southern Beaches anthology last July. The NEW and IMPROVED and LONGER version will be coming out November 25! However, it’s available for pre order NOW! YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY.I hope you enjoy reading this sucker as much as I enjoyed writing it. It’s the first book in the SHIFT HAPPENS series. Happy Reading!Smooch, Robyn 

Chapter 1“You’re joking.”“No, actually I’m not,” my boss said and slapped the folder into my hands. “You leave tomorrow morning and I don’t want to see your hairy ass till this is solved.”I looked wildly around her office for something to lob at her head. It occurred to me that might not be the best of ideas, but desperate times led to stupid measures. She could not do this to me. I’d worked too hard and I wasn’t going back. Ever.“First of all, my ass is not hairy except on a full moon and you’re smoking crack if you think I’m going back to Georgia.”Angela crossed her arms over her ample chest and narrowed her eyes at me. “Am I your boss?” she asked.“Is this a trick question?”She huffed out an exasperated sigh and ran her hands through her spiked ‘do making her look like she’d been electrocuted. “Essie, I am cognizant of how you feel about Hung Island, Georgia, but there’s a disaster of major proportions on the horizon and I have no choice.”“Where are you sending Clark and Jones?” I demanded.“New York and Miami.”“Oh my god,” I shrieked. “Who did I screw over in a former life that those douches get to go to cool cities and I have to go home to an island called Hung?”“Those douches do have hairy asses and not just on a full moon. You’re the only female agent I have that looks like a model so you’re going to Georgia. Period.”“Fine. I’ll quit. I’ll open a bakery.”Angela smiled and an icky feeling skittered down my spine. “Excellent, I’ll let you tell the Council that all the money they invested in your training is going to be flushed down the toilet because you want to bake cookies.”The Council consisted of supernaturals from all sorts of species. The branch that currently had me by the metaphorical balls was WTF—Werewolf Treaty Federation. They were the worst as far as stringent rules and consequences went. The Vampyres were loosey goosey, the Witches were nuts and the freakin’ Fairies were downright pushovers, but not the Weres. Nope, if you enlisted you were in for life. It had sounded so good when the insanely sexy recruiting officer had come to our local Care For Your Inner Were meeting. Training with the best of the best. Great salary with benefits. Apartment and company car. But the kicker for me was that it was fifteen hours away from the hell I grew up in. No longer was I Essie from Hung Island, Georgia—and who in their right mind would name an island Hung—I was Agent Essie McGee of the Chicago WTF. The irony of the initials was a source of pain to most Werewolves, but went right over the Council’s heads due to the simple fact that they were older than dirt and oblivious to pop culture.Yes, I’d been disciplined occasionally for mouthing off to superiors and using the company credit card for shoes, but other than that I was a damn good agent. I'd graduated at the top of my class and was the go-to girl for messy and dangerous assignments that no one in their right mind would take... I’d singlehandedly brought down three rogue Weres who were selling secrets to the Dragons—another supernatural species. The Dragons shunned the Council, had their own little club and a psychotic desire to rule the world. Several times they’d come close due to the fact that they were loaded and Weres from the New Jersey Pack were easily bribed. Not to mention the fire-breathing thing…I was an independent woman living in the Windy City. I had a gym membership, season tickets to the Cubs and a gay Vampyre best friend named Dwayne. What more did a girl need?Well, possibly sex, but the bastard had ruined me for other men…Hank “The Tank” Wilson was the main reason I’d rather chew my own paw off than go back to Hung Island, Georgia. Six foot three of obnoxious, egotistical, perfect-assed, alpha male Werewolf. As the alpha of my local Pack he had decided it was high time I got mated…to him. I, on the other hand, had plans—big ones and they didn’t include being barefoot and pregnant at the beck and call of a player.So I did what any sane, rational woman would do. I left in the middle of the night with a suitcase, a flyer from the hot recruiter and enough money for a one-way bus ticket to freedom. Of course, nothing ever turns out as planned… The apartment was the size of a shoe box, the car was used and smelled like French fries and the benefits didn’t kick in till I turned one hundred and twenty five. We Werewolves had long lives.“Angela, you really can’t do this to me.” Should I get down on my knees? I was so desperate I wasn’t above begging.“Why? What happened there, Essie? Were you in some kind of trouble I should know about?” Her eyes narrowed, but she wasn’t yelling.I think she liked me…kind of. The way a mother would like an annoying spastic two year old who belonged to someone else. “No, not exactly,” I hedged. “It’s just that…”“Weres are disappearing and presumed dead. Considering no one knows of our existence besides other supernaturals, we have a problem. Furthermore, it seems like humans might be involved.”My stomach lurched and I grabbed Angela’s office chair for balance. “Locals are missing?” I choked out. My grandma Bobby Sue was still there, but I’d heard from her last night. She’d harangued me about getting my belly button pierced. Why I’d put that on Instagram was beyond me. I was gonna hear about that one for the next eighty years or so.“Not just missing—more than likely dead. Check the folder,” Angela said and poured me a shot of whiskey. With trembling hands I opened the folder. This had to be a joke. I felt ill. I’d gone to high school with Frankie Mac and Jenny Packer. Jenny was as cute as a button and was the cashier at the Piggly Wiggly. Frankie Mac had been the head cheerleader and cheated on every test since the fourth grade. Oh my god, Debbie Swink? Debbie Swink had been voted most likely to succeed and could do a double backwards flip off the high dive. She’d busted her head open countless times before she’d perfected it. Her mom was sure she’d go to the Olympics. “I know these girls,” I whispered.“Knew. You knew them. They all were taking classes at the modeling agency.”“What modeling agency? There’s no modeling agency on Hung Island.” I sifted through the rest of the folder with a knot the size of a cantaloupe in my stomach. More names and faces I recognized. Sandy Moongie? Wait a minute.“Um, not to speak ill of the dead, but Sandy Moongie was the size of a barn…she was modeling?”“Worked the reception desk.” Angela shook her head and dropped down on the couch.“This doesn’t seem that complicated. It’s fairly black and white. Whoever is running the modeling agency is the perp.”“The modeling agency is Council sponsored.”I digested that nugget in silence for a moment.“And the Council is running a modeling agency, why?”“Word is that we’re heading toward revealing ourselves to the humans and they’re trying to find the most attractive representatives to do so.”“That’s a joke, right?” What kind of dumb ass plan was that?“I wish it was.” Angela picked up my drink and downed it. “I’m getting too old for this shit,” she muttered as she refilled the shot glass, thought better of it and just swigged from the bottle.“Is the Council aware that I’m going in?”“What do you think?”“I think they’re old and stupid and that they send in dispensable agents like me to clean up their shitshows,” I grumbled.“Smart girl.”“Who else knows about this? Clark? Jones?”“They know,” she said wearily. “They’re checking out agencies in New York and Miami.”“Isn’t it conflict of interest to send me where I know everyone?”“It is, but you’ll be able to infiltrate and get in faster that way. Besides, no one has disappeared from the other agencies yet.”There was one piece I still didn’t understand. “How are humans involved?”She sighed and her head dropped back onto her broad shoulders. “Humans are running the agency.”It took a lot to render me silent, like learning my grandma had been a stripper in her youth, and that all male Werewolves were hung like horses… but this was horrific.“Who in the hell thought that was a good idea? My god, half the female Weres I know sprout tails when flash bulbs go off. We won’t have to come out, they can just run billboards of hot girls with hairy appendages coming out of their asses.”“It’s all part of the Grand Plan. If the humans see how wonderful and attractive we are, the issue of knowingly living alongside of us will be moot.”Again. Speechless.“When are Council elections?” It was time to vote some of those turd knockers out.“Essie.” Angela rolled her eyes and took another swig. “There are no elections. They’re appointed and serve for life.”“I knew that,” I mumbled. Skipping Were History class was coming back to bite me in the butt.“I’ll go.” There was no way I couldn’t. Even though my knowledge of the hierarchy of my race was fuzzy, my skills were top notch and trouble seemed to find me. In any other job that would suck, but in mine, it was an asset.“Good. You’ll be working with the local Pack alpha. He’s also the sheriff there. Name’s Hank Wilson. You know him?”“Yep.” Biblically. I knew the son of a bitch biblically.*** “You’re gonna bang him.”“I am not gonna bang him.”“You are so gonna bang him.”“Dwayne, if I hear you say that I’m gonna bang him one more time, I will not let you borrow my black Mary Jane pumps. Ever again.”Dwayne made the international “zip the lip and throw away the key” sign while silently mouthing that I was going to bang Hank.“I think you should bang him if he’s a hot as you said.” Dwayne made himself comfortable on my couch and turned on the TV.“When did I ever say he was hot?” I demanded as I took the remote out of his hands. I was not watching any more Dance Moms. “I never said he was hot.”“Paaaaleese,” Dwayne flicked his pale hand over his shoulder and rolled his eyes.“What was that?”“What was what?” he asked, confused.“That shoulder thing you just did.”“Oh, I was flicking my hair over my shoulder in a girlfriend move.”“Okay, don’t do that. It doesn’t work. You’re as bald as a cue ball.” “But it’s the new move,” he whined.Oh my god, Vampyres were such high maintenance. “According to who?” I yanked my suitcase out from under my bed and started throwing stuff in.“Kim Kardashian.”I refused to dignify that with so much as a look.“Fine,” he huffed. “But if you say one word about my skinny jeans I am so out of here.”I considered it, but I knew he was serious. As crazy as he drove me, I adored him. He was my only real friend in Chicago and I had no intention of losing him.“I know he’s hot,” Dwayne said. “Look at you—you’re so gorge it’s redonkulous. You’re all legs and boobs and hair and lips—you’re far too beautiful to be hung up on a goober.”“Are you calling me shallow?” I snapped as I ransacked my tiny apartment for clean clothes. Damn it, tomorrow was laundry day. I was going to have to pack dirty clothes. “So he’s ugly and puny and wears bikini panties?”“No! He’s hotter than Satan’s underpants and he wears boxer briefs,” I shouted. “You happy?”“He’s actually a nice guy.”“You’ve met Hank?” I was so confused I was this close to making fun of his skinny jeans just so he would leave.“Satan. He’s not as bad as everyone thinks.”How was it that everyone I came in contact with today stole my ability to speak? Thankfully, I was interrupted by a knock at my door.“You expecting someone?” Dwayne asked as he pilfered the remote back and found Dance Moms.“No.”I peeked through the peephole. Nobody came to my place except Dwayne and the occasional pizza delivery guy or Chinese food take out guy or Indian food take out guy. Wait. What the hell was my boss doing here?“Angela?”“You going to let me in?”“Depends.”“Open the damn door.”I did.Angela tromped into my shoebox and made herself at home. Her hair was truly spectacular. It looked like she might have even pulled out a clump on the left side. “You want to tell me why the sheriff and alpha of Hung Island, Georgia says he won’t work with you?”“Um…no?”“He said he had a hard time believing someone as flaky and irresponsible as you had become an agent for the Council and he wants someone else.” Angela narrowed her eyes at me and took the remote form Dwayne. “Spill it, Essie.”I figured the best way to handle this was to lie—hugely. However, gay Vampyre boyfriends had a way of interrupting and screwing up all your plans.“Well, you see…”“He’s her mate and he dipped his stick in several other…actually many other oil tanks. So she dumped his furry player ass, snuck away in the middle of the night and hadn’t really planned on ever going back there again.” Dwayne sucked in a huge breath, which was ridiculous because Vampyres didn’t breathe. It took everything I had not to scream and go all Wolfy. “Dwayne, clearly you want me to go medieval on your lily white ass because I can’t imagine why you would utter such bullshit to my boss.”“Doesn’t sound like bullshit to me,” Angela said as she channel surfed and landed happily on an old episode of Cagney and Lacey. “We might have a problem here.”“Are you replacing me?” Hank Wilson had screwed me over once when I was his. He was not going to do it again when I wasn’t.“Your call,” she said. Dwayne, who was an outstanding shoplifter, covertly took back the remote and flipped over to the Food Channel. Angela glanced up at the tube and gave Dwayne the evil eye.“I refuse to watch lesbians fight crime in the eighties. I’ll get hives,” he explained, tilted his head to the right and gave Angela a smile. He was so pretty it was silly—piercing blue eyes and body to die for. Even my boss had a hard time resisting his charm.“Fine,” she grumbled.“Excuse me,” I yelled. “This conversation is about me, not testosterone ridden women cops with bad hair, hives or food. It’s my life we’re talking about here—me, me, me!” My voice had risen to decibels meant to attract stray animals within a ten-mile radius, evidenced by the wincing and ear covering.“Essie, are you done?” Dwayne asked fearfully.“Possibly. What did you tell him?” I asked Angela.“I told him the Council has the last word in all matters. Always. And if he had a problem with it, he could take it up with the elders next month when they stay awake long enough to listen to the petitions of their people.”“Oh my god, that’s awesome,” I squealed. “What did he say?”“That if we send you down, he’ll give you bus money so you can hightail your sorry cowardly butt right back out of town.” Was she grinning at me, and was that little shit Dwayne jotting the conversation down in the notes section on his phone?“Let me tell you something,” I ground out between clenched teeth as I confiscated Dwayne’s phone and pocketed it. “I am going to Hung Island, Georgia tomorrow and I will kick his ass. I will find the killer first and then I will castrate the alpha of the Georgia Pack…with a dull butter knife.”Angela laughed and Dwayne jackknifed over on the couch in a visceral reaction to my plan. I stomped into my bathroom and slammed the door to make my point, then pressed my ear to the rickety wood to hear them talk behind my back.“I’ll bet you five hundred dollars she’s gonna bang him,” Dwayne told Angela.“I’ll bet you a thousand that you’re right,” she shot back.“You’re on.”


PRE ORDER TODAY!!!!!!
AMAZON LINK- http://www.amazon.com/Ready-Were-Shift-Happens-Book-ebook/dp/B00PD8LQ6G/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1415546963&sr=8-2&keywords=ready+to+were

iBOOK LINK- https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/ready-to-were/id938786247?mt=11&uo=4

SHOULD I BE A TELETUBBY?Hmmmmm…



I have debated with myself for days—mostly in private, but I did realize I was babbling to myself at the grocery the other day. It was Wednesday—Senior Citizens Day. I was slightly less self-conscious when I realized most of the people in the store were all mumbling to themselves. I will now only shop on Wednesdays. 

My debate has centered around my “not fun” status. I have been told that I am boring by my kids because I don’t dress up for Halloween. Isn’t it enough that I get their damn costumes and candy and pumpkins and bloody trolls and monsters for the yard??? Not to mention the grave stones and headless things that give me nightmares. Clearly not. I shall fight this unfair assessment. I will dress up and embarrass the hell out of them this year.

Their Dad is the fun one…However, I’m the one they come to when they are sick or need help with homework (even though I’m useless when it comes to Algebra) or to ask about the birds and bees or when they can’t find something or if they’re hungry or etc… Thankfully, they seem to be fine with the fact I talk out loud to the invisible people from my books all the time. I’m sure this will lead them into therapy at some stage of their lives…



Often they have to clarify if I’m talking about a real person or a fictional one. BUT, I must point out that same question is relevant for their actor father. We pride ourselves on being a little odd. Weird is a compliment in our family. 



Sooooo, back to my dilemma—what to be for Halloween…I have considered a Teletubby, the purple one of course. I have imagined myself as the Pink Power Ranger or Dora the Explorer. All of these options would mortify my children. Elmo would send them running for cover. 



So many choices. So many ways to make them see the error of their thoughts about their “not fun” mom. They assume I will choose to be a Vampire because of my obsession with the paranormal, but that’s too easy. Typical I am not. I have also mulled the thought of becoming Bob the Builder, but that show could drive anyone to drink. However, Caiou would make me tear my own head off and eat it. 



I believe I will be a Teletubby. I will get tons of pictures hugging and tackling my children in my ginormous purple suit. I will talk like a Teletubby for the entire evening and I will dance as we go from house to house. I feel good about my decision. 

Five bucks says that they will beg me to never dress up again.

Happy Halloween. 



If you want some Spooky Sexy reading, check out the Hot Damned Series!!!! There are no Teletubbies in it. 

xoxo Robyn 



FASHIONABLY DEAD (FREEEEEEEE)  http://www.amazon.com/Fashionably-Dead-Hot-Damned-Book-ebook/dp/B00EYMXM2I/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1412706351&sr=8-5&keywords=robyn+peterman



FASHIONABLY DEAD DOWN UNDER

http://www.amazon.com/Fashionably-Dead-Down-Under-Damned-ebook/dp/B00JAYWZ4G/ref=pd_sim_kstore_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=0XAP2MMH43MFKD9JDFS7





HELL ON HEELS

http://www.amazon.com/Hell-On-Heels-Damned-Series-ebook/dp/B00MXOOXQ8/ref=pd_sim_kstore_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=18D9J84KFHR7VA76R6CY